


Origins

by PracticallyImaginative (margaux_margo)



Category: Major Crimes (TV)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Background Femslash, Backstory, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-12
Updated: 2015-07-12
Packaged: 2018-04-09 00:41:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 42,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4327239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/margaux_margo/pseuds/PracticallyImaginative
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sharon O'Dwyer and Andrea Hobbs' challenging childhoods prepare them for meeting one another in college. Growing together and apart, they mature and age, up to present day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Snow

**Author's Note:**

> Jack and Andy are only minor supporting characters, provided for contrast.
> 
> This is my first fanfic and I'm new to AO3, so I appreciate any and all feedback, constructive or otherwise.
> 
> In the epilogue is a link to an original song, "written by" one of the characters.

Sharon pulled her coat around her as she left the library and stepped into the first snowfall of the season.

She was smiling to herself, still dwelling in the satisfaction of feeling completely prepared for her Constitutional Law exam. She was one of the few undergraduates enrolled in the course, but she had every intention of competing with the older Law Students who thought of her as either inconsequential or a welcome safety buffer for the class curve.  
  
She thought about arriving early to class in the morning and asking her Professor if the grades would be posted publicly. She wasn't sure which she preferred: the secret knowledge that she'd aced the exam and unseated a smug 1st year Law Student, or, the satisfaction of publicly shocking everyone, despite the target it placed on her back.  
  
Sharon hurried across the quad as the snowfall thickened. She wanted to get back to her dorm room, shower, and get into bed. Since high school, she'd prided herself on successful study habits. Instead of procrastinating, then cramming until the last minute, Sharon studied in a timely manner, which allowed her to stop at a reasonable time and get a full night's sleep.  
  
Already anticipating putting on her snug PJs, Sharon turned the corner without looking up.  
  
"Whoa there," a familiar voice said, as Sharon nearly collided with two young men. "Sharon?"   
  
Sharon looked up into Jack's amused face.  
  
"Hi Jack," she greeted him, flatly. As the only person from her high school who now attended her college, Sharon had gotten used to the unpleasant surprise of occasionally running into Jack Raydor.  
  
"It's good to see you," he smiled, genuinely pleased to see her.  
  
The disinterest on Sharon's face was evident. She was about to say goodbye and continue walking.  
  
"Uh, this is my roommate, Andy," Jack jumped, desperate to detain her a minute longer.  
  
"Hi," Andy stuck out his mittened hand to shake Sharon's. "You must be THE Sharon. I've heard a lot about you."  
  
Sharon managed to lift the left side of her mouth into a half-hearted smile, which came across as a grimace.  
  
"Strange how little we see each other, isn't it?" Jack tried to make small talk.  
  
"Not really," Sharon sighed.  
  
"Ouch," Andy mouthed, looking in Jack's direction. Jack kept staring at Sharon; apparently surprised, and hurt.  
  
"'Goodnight Jack. Nice to meet you Andy," Sharon said cordially, though not warmly, as she carefully sidestepped around the dumbstruck duo.  
  
✢✢✢✢✢✢  
  
Sharon had first noticed Jack when they were in the tenth grade. They were both on the debate team.  
  
She'd joined because she knew, even then, that she wanted to be a lawyer. Debate would be a helpful extracurricular to develop her logic and oratory skills. Plus, she thought she might meet like minded students; she wasn't having much luck making friends among the school's general populace.  
  
Sharon could tell Jack had a decent intellect. He could come up with an argument about a current event, even in the middle of goofing off. The debate coach would call on him, mostly to get him and his friends to stop snickering about an unrelated inside joke, and Jack would instantly conjure an opinion, no matter the topic.  
  
Sharon often found flaws in Jack's opinions, but he seemed to fool most people into thinking his arguments were sound. She suspected a lot of it had to do with his bravado.  
  
To Sharon, the ability to think on your feet, present strong arguments, and gloss over any gaps in logic by projecting confidence, were increasingly attractive traits in a potential debate partner.   
  
Since Freshman year, Sharon's debate partner had been one of the smartest kids in school. Ben was two years older than her. He was a slow, methodical thinker with a fear of public speaking. She respected him and his intelligence, but he'd still be formulating his intricate thoughts on paper when it came time for their rebuttal. If it was his turn to speak, he'd start sweating, well aware he wasn't ready. Sharon would frantically pass him scribbled prompts on notecards, which his shaking hands would often drop.  
  
Meanwhile, Jack's bravado extended to all aspects of his personality. If he wasn't joking with his buddies, he was flirting with any woman in sight.  
  
And, no matter who he was talking to, if Sharon walked by, he'd curtail his conversation and chase after her, asking about her weekend, or sharing about his. Sharon was invariably hurrying to her next class, or mentally crafting a mnemonic device for something she'd learned in the last. For some reason, Jack always made an effort to connect.  
  
✢✢✢✢✢✢

The high school state tournament was Ben's final debate event before graduating. By the end of the night, Sharon was particularly exhausted. She'd carried them to the finals, only to be defeated by a team of true equals. After the awards ceremony, she approached Jack, who'd won first place in one-on-one debate.  
  
"Congratulations, Jack."  
  
"You two Sharon."  
  
Sharon shrugged, truly feeling that second place in the state wasn't worthy of praise.  
  
She stepped towards him, looking him in the eyes. She said, seriously, "I think we'd be great together."  
  
Jack's face flickered with surprise, then settled into a cool nonchalance. "I do too. I've liked you for a long time." He reached out and touched her lightly on the waist.  
  
Sharon startled, leaning away from his touch. "I think we'd be great debate partners," she clarified, "if you'd consider switching to team debate."   
  
"Oh, yeah. Of course. I knew what you meant." Jack ran his fingers over the top of his head and through his hair, not knowing what else to do with a hand that had been so viscerally rejected.   
  
"So is that a yes?" Sharon asked, wanting his brains and bravado on her team, despite the awkwardness in the air.    
  
"Definitely." He smiled wide, holding out his arm for a casual, sideways high five. "You and me."  
  
She smiled, genuinely thrilled. Jack grinned back, lost in her eyes, and high on the feeling that he'd gotten Sharon to smile.  
  
✢✢✢✢✢  
  
Their Junior and Senior years of high school, Sharon and Jack saw two regional titles, a state championship, the national semi-finals, and five conversations where Jack asked her out and Sharon said no.  
  
Also, countless times, Sharon put on her running shoes, jogged to the houses of Jack's buddies, and rang the doorbell.   
  
"Hi Mrs. Richardson. Is Jack here?"  
  
"Hi Mr. Chen. Have you seen Jack this evening?"  
  
Parents loved her. Sharon O'Dwyer was always in the school newspaper for one achievement or another. They looked at her with those why-couldn't-you-have-been-our-child eyes. They'd let her in, no questions asked, secretly hoping some of her traits would rub off on their sons. She'd go upstairs and knock on Alex's bedroom door, or she'd head out back to the boys' favorite hangout spot, Matty's garage.  
  
"Hey Shar!" Jack greeted her with the enthusiasm of a disobedient dog who'd forgotten he was in trouble with his master. "Come on in!"  
  
Matty and Alex were less excited to see her. They'd look away, mumble "bummer" or "buzzkill," then turn up the music or start talking amongst themselves, knowing that until Sharon left, often with Jack in tow, it was like someone had just pressed pause on their party.  
  
Jack on the other hand, had a failing memory when it came to Sharon's arrivals. He would light up, as if the party had just walked in the door.  
  
"Shar! I was expecting you!"  
  
"Is that so?"  
  
"Yeah, saved you a seat." He patted the small space next to him on the beanbag chair. "Saved you a beer too." He smiled and threw her a can. She caught it easily, placed it on the nearest flat surface, and crossed her arms.  
  
"Hmm, that's ironic. Because I was expecting you. At practice."  
  
It always took a few exchanges before it hit Jack that Sharon wasn't going to act the way she did in his dreams. When he "awoke" it was embarrassing for him, and everyone watching. That was Matty and Alex's cue to shuffle outside, away from the ensuing argument.  
  
"Hey now, I figured we kicked so much ass last weekend, we might as well take the week off. You always say resting up is important before a tournament."  
  
"I say that meaning we should train and practice and prepare ahead of time, so we can sleep well and eat well immediately beforehand. I do not mean slack off entirely and drink."  
  
"Sharon, Sharon," he pouted. "How about a hug?"  
  
"God, Jack. I am going to dump you."  
  
"Are we dating?" he winked. "I didn't even realize it! Can I get a breakup kiss?"  
  
"I'm dumping you as my debate partner, dummy."  
  
"Shar, I'm sorry. I really am. Can we practice tomorrow? I'll meet you at lunch. And right after school. I promise."  
  
"Bring copies of Newsweek, the Times, and the Wall Street Journal. We're behind on our clippings from last week."   
  
Sharon would turn and leave without saying goodbye. She'd close the door behind her, call goodbye to the parents, and jog home.  
  
Jack would sigh, lean his head against the beanbag chair, and crack another beer, relieved he'd salvaged their relationship for at least another day. It was like he got off on the thrill of being in trouble and getting out of it, over and over again.  
  
Sharon stuck with him because she loved debate, she loved winning, and there weren't other prospects on the team.  
  
Also, the truth was, she was comfortable being the responsible one. After all, that's the role she played in her family. She had a sense that it wasn’t the healthiest way to be, but keeping other people in line made her feel good about herself. It made her feel like she had value.  
  
She soothed herself by vowing that when she got to college, things would be different. She'd find people like her.  
  
✢✢✢✢✢  
  
Sharon returned from the law library early, having forgotten her notes. As she stepped into her dorm's common room, she noticed all her roommates were gathered, lounging on the futon and floor pillows, laughing about something. They stopped talking the moment she walked in.  
  
Sharon couldn't help but notice the floorplans for off-campus apartments, spread across the floor. Only Freshmen lived on campus at their college. So, by the end of Freshman year, people paired up or teamed up and found off campus housing. Sharon hadn't given herself time to think about next year; she was focused on her upcoming finals.   
  
Now, what hurt her heart, was the realization that her roommates were planning on moving in together next year, and they'd intentionally excluded her from the equation.   
  
"Sorry, could you hand me…" Sharon gestured toward the end of the futon, without making eye contact. She hoped her throat didn't sound as dry as it felt. One of her roommates obligingly reached for Sharon's notebook. "Thanks." Sharon took the notebook in hand, keeping her face lowered. Tears threatened to cloud her vision as she stepped quickly out of the common room, back into the hallway, and closed the door behind her.  
  
As soon as the door shut, she leaned against the wall for support, pressing her lips together and squeezing shut her eyelids, to keep from bursting into tears.  
  
"Awkward!" she heard one of her roommates say, before the others started squealing in the affirmative.  
  
"Do you think she knew what we were doing?"   
  
"You're asking if brainiac could tell? Uh, of course she could."   
  
Nervous laughter.  
  
"I'm just saying, social smarts don't seem to be her thing. She might not have noticed."  
  
"She probably thought we started a study group without her."  
  
Snickering laughter.  
  
"Ooooo, man. That probably would feel worse to her."  
  
"Nah, I don't think that's her style. I've never seen her study with anyone. Have you?"  
  
There was silence, as everyone in the room presumably shook their heads.  
  
"Think about it. I've never seen her have a conversation longer than a minute with anyone except a Professor."  
  
The room burst into unbidden laughter.  
  
Sharon knew she couldn't soothe herself in her dorm room. Her return would be conspicuous.   
  
Besides, her bunk didn't feel like home. It didn't feel like hers. She was an outsider. An interloper. A temporary, financial aid pity case who didn't belong. She never had.   
  
So she fled to the only place in the world that felt like home.  
  
✢✢✢✢✢  
  
Since the age of nine, Sharon had taken refuge in the library.  
  
Sure, she fit the cliche of an isolated child getting lost in the world of books. But Sharon didn't use books to lose herself. She used books to find herself.  
  
Books were where she found courageous characters, historic people, ideas, concepts, and philosophies she related to. When she looked up from her books and observed the kids around her, she often found she didn't relate. How could they be so carefree? As far as she was concerned, the world was a serious place, filled with people who needed help.

And she felt driven to help them.

It wasn't until the eighth grade that Sharon realized her desire to save the world, was a misplaced desire to save her family.

Her third grade year, she'd been cast as the lead in a school play, probably because she was the best reader in class. Her teacher rightly assumed that Sharon would be able to read and memorize her lines, as well as the fifth graders. The night of the performance, she met that expectation, but to her surprise, her parents weren't in the crowd. When it came time for her final monologue of the night, her parents still weren't there. So she stalled. She didn't speak. She wanted to wait and give them one last chance to show up.  
  
Other kids on stage started urging, "talk!" And from the wings, Sharon's teacher whispered the beginning of the line, as if to jog Sharon's memory. But Sharon did remember. She remembered everything. She remembered seeing her mom proudly post the play announcement on the refrigerator door two months ago, then point to it every few days as she asked Sharon how rehearsals were going. She remembered feeling her dad plant a kiss on her forehead as she ate breakfast that very morning. He called, "see you tonight, honey," before walking out the door.

Sharon started delivering her final lines, but her heart wasn't in it. She enunciated her words and projected her voice, just like she'd practiced. But tears clouded her vision.

After the play, as parents hugged children and handed them flowers, Sharon's eyes scanned the auditorium, increasingly frantic. Her teacher approached, holding a scrap of paper, and wearing a sympathetic, knowing expression. "Sharon, I'm going to give you a ride to your parents, okay?"

"Did mom have the baby?" That was the first thing that came to Sharon's mind. She knew her mom was only 6 months pregnant, but last year, when Denny and William were born, they had tried to come too early. Maybe, this baby wanted out even earlier than the twins.

Sharon's teacher shook her head, and smiled faintly, attempting to be assuring. "As far as I know, your mom and the baby are fine. Go on, grab your coat. We'll talk in the car."

Instead of driving Sharon to the two bedroom house where Sharon shared a room with two year old Julian and the one year old twins, Sharon was taken to the hospital, where she found her mother pacing and wringing her hands, in a hallway that smelled of antiseptic.

Sharon's mom ran towards Sharon and gripped her in a hug so tight, Sharon worried the baby in her mom's tummy might get squished.

Sharon's mom told Sharon to sit down, explaining that she was telling her these things because she was a big girl, and everything would be okay.

Dad had collapsed at work. He was brought to the hospital and the doctors discovered he had something called septic shock. Something was blocking his large intestine, which was causing bacteria to leak into his blood. His blood had become toxic, and that's why he'd gone unconscious.

The doctors had started doing emergency surgery, to go in and clear whatever was blocking his colon. Once the doctors looked inside, they discovered the blockage was a tumor.

Sharon had heard of tumors. She'd read a book about a little girl, her age, who had a brain tumor. The little girl never got to turn ten. Sharon bit her bottom lip as her mom kept talking.

Dad was still in surgery. The doctors were removing the tumor. The surgery would take another hour. Then, they'd wait for Dad to wake up. Julian, William, and Denny were with Mrs. Rogoff, the neighbor from church.

Sharon nodded solemnly, her mind full of questions. Although she'd always been inquisitive, for the first time in her life, Sharon forced herself to not ask anything. She was afraid of what she'd find out.

The surgery must have taken much longer than another hour, because by the time Sharon's mom woke her up, saying it was time to go in and see Dad, Sharon rubbed her eyes and read 3:35 on the clock above the nurses' station.

Sharon walked into the beeping, buzzing room, not knowing what to expect. She thought she'd see her dad, laying in a hospital bed, maybe looking like her mom had after her mom had given birth to Julian and the twins. Her mom had looked calm: a mixture of tired and happy. She had also looked satisfied and full of hope. To nine year old Sharon, hospitals were places where miracles happened.

That's why she wasn't prepared for what she saw.

As she approached the bed, she saw a person, but it didn't look like her father. Her father was rosy cheeked and boisterous, with a twinkle in his eye and an open hearted laugh that made everyone else laugh, in return.

This man was pale. His cheeks were sunken, like a ghost's. It was as if he'd lost twenty pounds, overnight. An oxygen machine was hooked up to his mouth; instead of the familiar sounds of his snoring, she heard the sounds of the machine. Sharon approached the bed on tiptoes, turning to her mom and whispering, "I don't want to wake him up."

The moment Sharon spoke, her mom's eyes welled with tears. "He's not asleep honey. He's unconscious. Go ahead and talk to him. We want him to wake up."

In that moment, Sharon felt the full weight of her mother's fear. Sharon's eyes filled with tears too, as she reached for her dad's hand. It was cold. Limp. Unmoving. She gave it a squeeze. She expected it to squeeze back. But it didn't. She knew it was her dad's hand because she recognized the hair on the back of his knuckles; but it didn't feel like her dad's hand. This hand didn't feel alive.

Sharon's mom was on the other side of the bed, holding her dad's other hand, stoking his still-as-death face, saying over and over again, "Richard? Richard? It's me. I'm here. I love you. I love you, honey. Richard, stay with us. Come back to us, Richard."

Sharon started talking too. The words came out garbled, as her sinuses started filling with mucus. "Dad? It's Sharon. I love you. I love you, Dad. Please wake up. Please wake up, Dad."

But Dad didn't wake up. He didn't wake up that night. He didn't wake up the next day. He didn't wake up the following day.

The doctors said they'd removed the tumor successfully. But Sharon's dad was in a coma from the sepsis. Sharon heard the doctors talking to her mom in low voices, just outside the room. They said things like "vegetative state" and "not sure if he lost brain function" and "even if he wakes up, he might not be all there."

✢✢✢✢✢

Sharon and her mom stayed at the hospital, falling asleep on one another, taking turns standing by her dad's bed, holding his limp hand and talking to him, just in case he could hear.

The morning of day four, Sharon was holding her dad's hand, reciting all her lines from the play, not knowing what else to talk about. She was saying her line about the pinto pony, when she felt pressure on her hand, and saw her dad's eyelids start pulsing, as if trying to open.

"Dad? Dad?" Sharon started calling, as if her dad was a lost boy, trapped in a dark, faraway tunnel and only Sharon's voice could reach down and pull him out.

His eyelids flew open.

"Dad!" Sharon screamed with excitement.

"Richard? Can you hear me?" Sharon's mom was instantly beside the bed.

 His facial muscles started to move, then stopped. Maybe he was trying to smile, but was too tired to complete the gesture.

"Dad, can you hear me?"

His eyelids closed, too heavy to keep open. But Sharon felt him squeeze her hand. "He squeezed yes!" She announced, absolutely certain he had communicated.

It turned out, he had.

And he hadn't lost any brain function.

He had survived: both body and brain. He was in recovery for months as he healed from the surgery, and from the unintended complications of surgery. But he was the same Dad inside. It was just the outside that was different.

He had been a wholesale meat salesman, which meant he had relationships with restaurants, sports stadiums, catering companies: anyone who needed to buy large quantities of meat. He was good with people; people liked him. Over the years, he'd kept his clients and added new ones; his job had been stable because as long as he worked hard and remained his jovial self, he could be successful, and more successful with time. In fact, he had told Sharon that once the new baby was born, they'd move into a bigger house so Sharon could have her own room.

But that was before.

Life changed the night of the play.

After two months, although her dad was at home, he wasn't recovering as quickly as expected. It turned out he'd gotten something called a staph infection, from his time in the hospital. So, back to the hospital he went. And apparently, a staph infection was contagious, so this time, Sharon and her mom and brothers had to stay away. And that's when Sharon's mom had the baby.

Marky was a healthy, normal baby. That's what the nurses said. They tried to tell mom she had a lot to be grateful for. She had another healthy child. But every time they said something like that, about being healthy, her mom broke into tears. Sharon understood why. Dad wasn't healthy. He couldn't be near the new baby. He lived at the other end of the hospital, the sad wing, as Sharon had started calling it in her mind.

Sharon's mom and Marky were able to come home before Sharon's dad. But after a few weeks, Dad came home too. And once his energy was better, he tried to go back to work. But in the five months he'd been off, his company had given his accounts to another salesman. Dad had to start over.

Sharon heard her parents talking about money, late at night, when they thought she wasn't listening. But their bedroom walls were thin; she could hear right into their room. They had bills, lots of bills, from Dad's time in the hospital. Mom said as soon as Marky was done nursing, that she'd go to work too. But she heard them do the math, writing down numbers, adding things up. And they always came to the same conclusion: childcare would cost more than Mom could make, given her education and the kinds of jobs she could get.

"If only Sharon were older," her mom sighed.

"Someday," her dad agreed. "Someday."

Through the walls, Sharon heard them, loud and clear: if she were older, she could either work to make money or fully take care of her brothers, or both. Sharon set her nine year old jaw and got to work on getting older.

✢✢✢✢✢

From nine on, Sharon babysat her brothers, helped clean the house, and did everything she possibly could to take burdens off her parents. She mentally drilled herself on spelling words and math problems, even while she burped Marky or stopped the twins from fighting. She'd decided school was incredibly important, because she wanted to go to college, get a good job, and support her family. But in the meantime, she wanted to take care of them in whatever ways she could.

That's why she didn't understand the other kids in her third grade class. They had different dreams, different desires. Hers were primal, basic. She didn't have time to play around. She had work to do.

Her dad's health had returned, but his business hadn't. He said it would just be a matter of time before he'd build up a new, loyal customer base. But it was harder to develop his clientele the second time than it was the first. Part of the problem was that he'd already saturated the local market; the salesman who'd inherited those customers now occupied the space. So, just to get business and keep business, he had to drive farther, spend more money on gas, and spend less time at home.

Even with all his efforts, they lost the house. Her parents couldn't make the mortgage payments; not with the medical bills they were still paying. Sharon heard her dad weep with shame one night, through the still thin wall. They moved into a two bedroom apartment. Julian, William, and Denny slept in the living room, Sharon and little Marky slept in one of the bedrooms, her parents slept in the other. It had always been crowded in the house, but it had felt like home. Now, in the apartment, it just felt like a too small hotel room, a temporary landing place until they got back on their feet. Or at least, that's what they told themselves and one another.

Sharon could never relax in that apartment. She associated it with one thing: hard work. She was always taking care of one problem or another; she had no space to herself. They might not have had expensive things, but what they did have, Sharon kept spotless. She took pride in keeping their apartment hygienic and well organized. It was an impressive feat, considering she had four brothers to train. She set up rules for them: where they took off their shoes and where they hung their clothes. She created chore lists and assignments when they were old enough. But of course, she gave herself the most tasks, the hardest tasks. Her parents let her run the household, since her dad was busy building his business and her mom was busy working at the grocery store.

In those preteen years, the only place Sharon ever relaxed was in the library. While she waited for her brothers to finish study hall so she could walk them home and make them dinner, she'd sit in the library and spend a precious hour, maybe two, actually enjoying herself. She'd get lost in a book and envision herself as someone else. The characters she loved were always responsible and hard working, but their lives were more exciting and their deeds were more noble: they solved mysteries, fought crime, and saved strangers.

When Sharon turned fourteen, she got a job at a local restaurant. She woke up pre-dawn, to do kitchen prep before first period. Then, after debate practice, studying, and helping her brothers with their homework, she'd head back to do dishes after dinner service. She slept five hours a night.

Sharon's high school graduation was the first time her mom and dad had shown up to an event since Sharon could remember. It wasn't that they hadn't wanted to come to her debate tournaments and school award ceremonies; they just hadn't had the time. After she was handed her diploma, shook Principal Weaver's hand, and walked across the stage, her mom accosted her with a hug before Sharon could make it back to her seat. While in her tight embrace, Sharon's mom whispered, "We'll miss you Sharon. You've been my right hand."

Instantly, Sharon felt riddled with guilt. She'd told her parents she was going to college. She'd told them when she started getting acceptance letters and scholarships. And when she'd picked where she was going to start in the fall, she'd told them that too. Now, it was clear, that though her parents had congratulated her on her college plans, it would hurt them when she left. She worried she was making the wrong choice.

That summer, Sharon worked overtime at the restaurant. She gave ninety percent of her paycheck to her family, saving a few dollars for her class registration fee and bus ticket.   
  
The last day of August, her bags were packed. She'd said goodbye to her parents before they each left for work. Now, seven year old Marky clamped onto her foot, as if they were playing the old game where she would try to move her leg with him attached. He'd grown too big for her to be able to lift her foot, but that was exactly his intention this time. He didn't want her to move. He didn't want her to go anywhere. The twins shoved each other, mock-arguing about who got to hug her first. Ten year old Julian hung back, leaning against the doorway to the bedroom, watching with sullen, angry eyes. He felt betrayed. His sister, his protector, was abandoning him.

It took all of Sharon's self-cultivated determination to stand by her life plans. She swore to her brothers that she was going to college so she could become a lawyer and support them all. As Sharon dragged her suitcase away from the apartment, toward the city bus stop that would connect her to the Greyhound, Julian glowered, tears in his eyes, caught between mistrust and needing to believe her.

She called her family once a week. Her brothers would fight for the phone and clamor to tell her about the happenings at school or on the playground. Her parents would tell her not to worry and to focus on her studies. They said her dad's business had gotten better, they were "out of the hole" financially, and they were actually putting aside money for a down payment on a house. Secretly, Sharon was hurt that they didn't seem to need her anymore. Taking care of people had become as natural as breathing. She'd spent half her life being a helpful big sister and obedient daughter. Her sense of identity was based on how useful she was to others.

Sharon considered sending money home, so she could feel like she was still contributing. But she found that even with all the financial aid she was getting, she needed her job at the library, just to buy books.

It wasn't surprising that of all the campus jobs, working in the stacks was the one Sharon had wanted. Now, not only did she spend hours studying in the library, she spent hours working in the library. And on that Freshman year night, when Sharon fled from her snickering roommates, her one wish was that she could have slept there, too.

There was something structural, literal, about the safety of a library. It was a public space, like a hospital, but it didn't smell like new chemicals; it smelled like old paper. And instead of a place where stories ended, it was a place where stories began.

"Time to go home," the guard said, finding Sharon in one of her go to spots in the corner of the library.  
  
Sharon nodded, standing up to pack her things. It was time to go home.   
  
But home wasn't her parents' apartment. Home wasn't her dorm room.  
  
She was already as close to home as she'd ever felt.   
  
But the library closed at 8.  
  
✢✢✢✢✢


	2. Clerestory

Sharon was sitting in the Cosmic Cup coffee shop, drinking tap water and eating a sandwich. She'd been studying in the law library for hours, and she was too much of a rule follower to sneak snacks in the stacks, so she stepped out to the nearest coffee shop to nibble on something before heading back in. 

Also, she was trying to learn to relax. She was tired of being a social pariah. The term "pariah" derived from southern India, where it referred to a low rung in the caste system; she intentionally used that term to refer to herself, internally.

In middle and high school, she'd always thought the way to obscure the fact that she was less well off than other kids was to act like she was destined for college and advanced degrees. But somehow, she'd alienated herself as a weirdo, instead of aligning with the rich kids. She'd realized, too late in the game, that the way to act like you belonged in the upper middle and upper class was to relax and look comfortable with your station. Now, it was too late; she didn't know how to chill out. She was all strive, all drive. It seemed insurmountable to pick up the skill of leisure.

But, just like everything else she'd gotten good at, she was damn well going to try.  
  
Hence the John Adams biography on her lap.  
  
The story was riveting, even if she did already know the career high points that were to come. And, it was a shame the Thomas Jefferson biography had spoiled what was certainly going to be the final scene. But she was enjoying her leisure, nonetheless: all 20 minutes of it.  
  
"Hey Sharon."   
  
Sharon looked up from her book.   
  
"What class is that for?" Jack asked genially, pulling out a seat to sit down.  
  
Sharon looked around, as if unsure what he was referring to. "Oh, this? It's not for class. It's, uh, for fun. I'm on my study break." As soon as she spoke, Sharon realized she'd made it sound like she was punching a clock. "I mean, I'm taking a study break. In fact, I should get going." She was embarrassed, certain she'd flubbed her attempt at leisure and was outing herself as a wannabe, yet again. She started packing up her things.  
  
Jack seemed unphased. He just smiled, warmly. "Hey, so where are you living next year?"  
  
That question stopped Sharon in her tracks. It was like she couldn't concentrate on packing up and talking about living arrangements at the same time. The words were forced. "Oh, I haven't actually made arrangements yet." She tried to keep her voice light and unburdened, but she sounded more tightly wound than she would have liked.  
  
"What? How could the always prepared Sharon not have made arrangements?" Jack meant to tease her, since he knew she took pride in her preparedness. But as soon as the words left his mouth, he realized he'd struck a chord. Her stony expression became soft around the edges as sadness flickered across her features. It broke Jack's heart. He recognized rejection when he saw it. He decided to make an offer he knew she'd refuse, but that was intended to make her feel better, at least for a moment. "Hey, you should join us. My pre-law study group. We're renting a house together. All six of us. We have room for a seventh."  
  
"You're in a study group?" Sharon was too distracted by Jack's study group declaration to even notice the invitation.  
  
"Yeah, I am." Jack grinned and shrugged. "Why are you so surprised? You taught me everything I know about studying. Tip number one: team up with people who are smarter and work harder than you."  
  
Sharon furrowed her eyebrows in a scolding way. But, despite herself, she smiled slightly. She was feeling tender. This whole exchange was making her nostalgic.  
  
Jack started to wonder if his offer was becoming more than a gesture of inclusion. Maybe she really had no other prospects. "In all seriousness, our study group is awesome. Everyone is pre-law. Some people are going the Poli Sci route, some are going the English route. Eric is studying sciences so he can go into patent law. It's a kickass group." He could tell Sharon, for whatever reason, was actually interested in what he was saying. "You know Clare, from mock trial?"  
  
Sharon nodded.  
  
"She's in our group. Hannah Walsh, too. Eric, Professor Magnussen's son. The brilliant Andrea Hobbs. And my buddy Andy."  
  
How Jack had aligned himself with some of the most accomplished undergraduates on campus, she had no idea.  
  
Clare founded the mock trial team. Hannah was one of the only Freshmen elected to student government. Eric's mom was a Law Professor. They were impressive. She would be lucky to be in their study group, much less their shared house. As for the other three, she'd never heard of Andrea Hobbs. Sharon had a vague sense of Jack's friend, Andy. She didn't get the sense that Andy was smart, by any means. In fact, she was surprised he was pre-law. She placed her bet right then and there that he would change directions, before next year was out. But, he seemed earnest and low key, so he was probably some good white space to have around when Hannah, Clare, and Eric were busy being dynamic and insightful. Of course, she knew Jack. He would be how he always had been: the slacker who relied on his raw intelligence and charm to skate by. But she had to give him credit. She suspected he was the glue that had pulled this group of people together.   
  
"How did you..." Sharon marveled, trailing off.  
  
"What, you didn't think I could align myself with a good crowd?" Jack winked.  
  
Sharon smiled and shook her head.  
  
Jack said, seriously, with a surprising undercurrent of self-awareness, "I spent more time with you than almost anyone in high school. I know what's good for me."   
  
“Tell me more about the house,” Sharon said decisively, putting down her bag.  
  
"We figured it'd be a way to save money. We can cook meals together, split rent, share expensive textbooks. And of course, share study notes."   
  
Jack went on to tell Sharon about the rent share, the approximate utilities, and the plan for groceries.   
  
It was so affordable, Sharon's financial aid money would actually cover her food and housing. It meant that with her part time job at the library, for the first time in her life, she could have a little money to spend beyond the barest subsistence.  
  
Jack described the layout of the house. Then he talked about some of the perks of living with kids whose parents gave them stuff. Clare, Hannah, and Jack's parents had all agreed to contribute items to their living rooms and kitchen. Eric had a car that he was generously referring to as the house vehicle. Jack noticed the change in Sharon's expression. "Oh, don't worry, you don't have to bring anything for the common rooms. Seriously. Just bring yourself. Everyone is super generous and wants to share."  
  
Sharon flushed, remembering that for all their differences, Jack was one of the only people in the world who actually understood where she came from. And for some inexplicable reason, without ever having spoken about it, she knew her secrets were safe with him.  
  
Smiling a little more deeply, she said, "I'm in." She jumped to qualify her own words. "I mean, if everyone else chooses me, or however that works." The sandwich in her stomach started doing somersaults as she remembered how carefully and pointedly her current roommates had rejected her.  
  
"Don't be silly. They're going to love you," Jack smiled, warm and assuring. "I'll mention you to everyone tonight. I'm sure they'll be thrilled. After all, you're a living legend.” He stood up and pushed in his chair. “You're known as the reason the Con Law class isn't allowing undergrads to register next year. You singlehandedly humiliated the Law Students by leading the class curve."   
  
She had no idea people knew about her, or about that, or that she and that change were connected. She flushed for the second time in two minutes.   
  
"You can go ahead and plan on moving in with us." Jack smiled genuinely, punching her gently in the shoulder before walking away.  
  
As he leaned on the door to exit the Cosmic Cup, he called back, "You won't regret it Sharon, I promise. This house might just be the best thing that ever happened to you."    
  
Deep in her gut, Sharon knew that was true.  
  
✢✢✢✢✢  
  
Sharon was walking back to her new abode and enjoying the crispness of the fall air, when she saw a station wagon, packed to the gills, idling in front of what were known to be swank off campus apartments.

Two young men, who had the invincible air of recent graduates, were struggling to wedge a final piece of furniture into the jam packed car. A third young man sat behind the steering wheel, his blueblood features locked in a permanent scowl of impatience. "Guys, just leave it!" he whined. "I don't care. We'll get another one."

His two friends shrugged at one another, placing the loveseat back on the sidewalk, sliding their bodies into the two small spaces they'd left themselves in the car. The driver looked in his rearview mirror, and started to back out.

"Sorry, excuse me," Sharon heard herself call. "Are you getting rid of that?"

"Yours if you want it. Just bought it this summer."

"Really? Thanks!" Sharon chirped, the gifters not hearing as they turned on their stereo and started chanting some personalized roadtrip mantra. They zoomed away, as if even one more second in this college town would sully their post-college auras.

Sharon lusted, momentarily, after their apparent bond and camaraderie, before reminding herself that they were probably boneheaded frat boys whose sense of brotherhood was based on supporting one another's drinking habits, and staying at their respective parents' beach houses. _Still, it must be nice to have friends._ She sighed.

She returned her attention to the object of her opportunism.

To her delight, the loveseat looked spotless and unsat in. It was a quality piece. She knew her soon-to-be-housemates had already outfitted the common spaces with furniture from their parents, so this loveseat was destined to become a resident in her own sparse bedroom.

She put a flattened cardboard box under each of its legs, allowing her to drag it the length of the boxes: about three feet. She then lifted each corner in turn, and readjusted the cardboard boxes, so she could drag the loveseat three feet again. The process was painstaking, undignified, and slow. But Sharon was used to the grind.  
  
An hour later, Sharon had bonded with the loveseat through their trial, and she and it were approaching the three steps that led to their new porch and front door. Sharon was mentally figuring out how to make it up the stairs, when she heard the footsteps of a jogging stride come up behind her.  
  
"Hey, need a hand?"  
  
Sharon turned around and found herself looking at a slightly out of breath woman, wearing sweatpants and a hoody. Her blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail.  
  
Sharon squinted at her with recognition. She'd never known her name and they'd never had a class together, but Sharon had seen had seen her, countless times, at the law library. Sharon assumed she was a law student, like everyone else there. Undergraduates hung out at the main library in the middle of campus. Sharon preferred the law library for some inexplicable reason. Maybe it was the sunlight from the clerestory windows. Maybe it was the intimacy of the smaller space. Maybe it was a way to distance herself from the undergraduates she felt alienated from. Whatever the reason, Sharon had spent many an hour in the law library, and this woman had too.  
  
Sometimes, they'd be the only people left when the guards came through and said, "five more minutes, ladies."  
  
They'd made eye contact once or twice, and the only words they'd ever exchanged were when Sharon said "thanks" as the other woman held open the door.  
  
"Law library," Sharon said, pointing her finger at the other woman, to show that she placed her in memory.  
  
"Yeah," the woman smiled, ear to ear. "Nice to meet you officially." She stuck her hand out. "Andrea."  
  
Sharon accepted the hand and shook it. "Sharon."  
  
"So, can I help you with that?" Andrea continued, raising her eyebrows toward the loveseat.  
  
"Oh!" Sharon startled, as if surprised by the offer. "Uh, thank you, but we'll be fine. I mean, I'll be fine."   
  
Andrea cocked her head at Sharon, looking at her with curiosity. There was something about the earnest, self-possessed woman in front of her that made Andrea feel tender. Sharon was both adorable, and substantial. She seemed like a sensitive soul who you should never cross. She was a paradox, and Andrea was instantly fascinated. Instinctively, Andrea sensed it would embarrass Sharon to call out how unusual it was to attempt to move a couch on one's own. So, she shrugged, downplaying the effort. "Come on, let me take a side. I'm headed in anyway."  
  
"Really, you don't have to..." Sharon shook her head, not wanting to burden her new housemate.  
  
Andrea didn't bother to answer verbally. Instead, she positioned herself at one end of the loveseat and got ready to lift. "And watch out for that second step," she pointed, a hint of sarcastic humor beneath her flat affect. "I've learned the hard way that it isn't stable."  
  
They successfully carried the loveseat up the stairs, through the door, down the hallway, and into Sharon's room.   
  
As they set it down, Sharon wanted to extend her gratitude, but she wasn't sure what to do. "Uh, would you like to sit down?" The moment the words left her mouth, Sharon looked around the room, realizing there was nothing to sit on except for her bed and the new loveseat. Sharon gestured toward the loveseat sheepishly.

Andrea grinned at Sharon's adorable awkwardness and unintentional comedy.   
  
Sharon used her hands to quickly dust off the cushion before they both faced forward, and simultaneously sat down.  
  
"Pretty comfortable," Andrea said conclusively, slinging her arm over the armrest.  
  
Sharon continued to sit stiffly, staring straight ahead. She pressed her lips together nervously, unsure how to make small talk. It didn't help that Andrea Hobbs was distractingly attractive.  
  
"Nice room," Andrea said easily, glancing around at the four bare walls and the window that looked out onto the front porch and street.  
  
"Which room are you in?" Sharon managed to ask.  
  
"The little room attached to the kitchen. I think it's the former pantry." Andrea rolled her eyes.

"Oh no!" Sharon jumped. "I feel bad. You should have this room."  
  
"No, no!" Andrea shook her head, laughing aloud. "I'm just joking around. I like it. It's cozy. It looks onto the backyard. I can see the big tree. And besides, I spend most of my time in…" Andrea trailed off, suddenly self-conscious. She wasn't normally this talkative when first meeting someone.

"The library?" Sharon finished.  
  
"Yeah," Andrea grinned, turning to face Sharon, who grinned back.  
  
✢✢✢✢✢  
  
Andrea heard the door open at the same time that she felt the autumn wind sweep stray leaves into the house.  
  
She saw Sharon come around the corner, her arms full of books.  
  
Sharon smiled when she saw Andrea sitting at the warmly lit kitchen table.  
  
"Let me help you with that." Andrea jumped up and closed the door, while Sharon set her books on one corner of the table and started removing her hoody.  
  
"Thanks! Class schedule?" Sharon asked, looking at the course catalogue, planner, and calendar on the table.  
  
"Yeah. I'm almost set," Andrea said, sitting back down and pulling her hair into a ponytail, as if she was telling herself, 'okay, now I'm really getting serious.' "But I like thinking through how my week would actually flow. I want to make sure I'm not overextending myself on any one day."  
  
"I do that too," Sharon smiled to herself. "Are you taking that?" Sharon asked, pointing to the syllabus for a course called Race and Justice.  
  
"I'm thinking about it." Andrea shrugged.  
  
"You should take it with me," Sharon said suddenly. "I mean, I'm taking it too. We could walk together."  
  
Andrea smiled.  
  
"What else are you taking?" Andrea asked, moving her papers into a single stack, nonverbally inviting Sharon to pull out a chair and sit down.  
  
✢✢✢✢✢  
  
Race and Justice was on Mondays and Wednesdays.   
  
The night before their first class, Sharon offered to make breakfast for Andrea, saying it wouldn't be trouble since she'd be doing it anyways. She'd just throw in a couple more eggs.   
  
So they met in the kitchen at 8:15 Monday morning.  
  
They'd bought one set of the books for class, determined to share them and save the expense. That morning, they talked easily about the books they'd each skimmed. As Sharon was dividing up their second helping of eggs, it hit her that she'd just been engaged in conversation for twenty minutes, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Something about Andrea made her feel at ease. Sharon felt free to share her passion about principles, her hypotheses about history. Andrea wasn't only a good listener, she was an instigator; she asked questions that made Sharon reconsider her opinions. And when Andrea shared her thoughts, Sharon was enamored, and similarly engaged.  
  
Their walk to class was like a continuation of the same conversation. The topics morphed, but the easy intimacy remained. As they stepped into the classroom, discovering it was a small seminar, not a large lecture, they looked at one another, eyes wide, not having to voice their shared excitement. During class itself, they sat next to one another. And when their Professor introduced a provocative frame, questioning the existence of a legal definition of race, Andrea instantly looked at Sharon, as if to say, 'I can't wait to talk about this later.'  
  
That evening, they debriefed about their other classes. Sharon loved listening to Andrea. She analyzed people and situations in an insightful way. She didn't just talk about the content of her classes, she shared about the Professors, the other students, even the lighting in the room. It made Sharon think about life, in a way only books ever had.  
  
Tuesday night, Andrea knocked on Sharon's door. Sharon answered in her PJs, a book held at her side, her finger carefully marking her current place.  
  
"Hey," Andrea greeted her, leaning against the doorframe, casually. Andrea meant to make her comment and leave, but seeing Sharon just made her want to linger longer, in her presence. "How's that book?" Andrea asked, noticing the title, 'The Building of the Panama Canal.'

"Oh," Sharon blushed, worried this was not the kind of book she should be reading for fun. "It's okay."  
  
"I bet it's fascinating," Andrea raised her eyebrows, intrigued just thinking about it.  
  
Sharon relaxed, remembering how it felt to be in Andrea's presence, reminding herself that there was no need to obscure anything about herself or her interests. "Yeah. It IS fascinating."  
  
"Maybe I can borrow it when you're done." Andrea smiled. "Anyway, just wanted to tell you to sleep in. I'll make breakfast."  
  
"Oh, that's okay! You don't have to. I…"  
  
Andrea cut her off. Andrea's smile snuck from her eyes down to her lips. "You know, you're really good at giving, but you kind of stink at receiving. You're supposed to say, 'thanks, good night.'"  
  
"Right," Sharon blushed again. "Thanks, Andrea."  
  
✢✢✢✢✢  
  
Adults had always told Sharon she was more responsible than her age suggested. They'd say things like, "you're thirteen going on thirty three,” and she'd swell with pride.  
  
There had never been an opportunity in Sharon's life to be a kid. And the world praised her for that loss of childhood.  
  
It was only recently that she'd started to wonder whether she had missed out on some critical life experiences that were actually important markers of being a person: having fun, goofing off, hanging out.

Andrea teased her that that was still an achievement oriented way of thinking about it. "What about the fact that you deserved a childhood? You get to relax and have fun and enjoy life, not because it'll help you be more accomplished in some way, but because that's a birthright for everyone. Life doesn't have to be about work and sacrifice exclusively. It can also be about pleasure and joy. You can choose to do things just because they make you happy."  
  
Sharon heard Andrea, intellectually, but it wasn't ingrained in Sharon's body.  
  
So, Andrea started praising Sharon for the silliest things. Not washing her dishes immediately after a meal. Watching a movie. Painting.  
  
Andrea had finally gotten Sharon to admit what she would do for fun, if she had all the time in the world and money was no object. Turned out, Sharon had always loved art. She would love to travel the world to see the great masterpieces. And she would love to make art, herself.  
  
So, Andrea instituted what they called Art Date.

They'd sit on the scrubby grass in the backyard. Sharon would bring her water colors. Andrea would write poetry. Sometimes they'd talk. Sometimes they'd be silent for an hour at a time, each engrossed in their own pursuit, but somehow happier to be in the presence of one another.  
  
During one Art Date in early October, Andrea put down her pen, leaned back on her elbows and asked, "Why do you want to be a lawyer?"  
  
"I think I'd be good at it." Sharon answered, flicking her wrist above the cup of water where she was cleaning her brush.  
  
"You'd be good at a lot of things."  
  
"And it seems like a just, moral place to put my energy." Sharon added, setting her jaw, wiping the brush on the paper towel by her side. Sharon didn't say the rest of her reasoning aloud: she thought she could make a good living and help support her family. "What about you?"  
  
"I want to make sure the right people are put behind bars for the right amount of time."  
  
Sharon put down her brush, making it clear she was all ears, if Andrea wanted to elaborate.   
  
"My parents..." Andrea started, then stopped, looking down at a blade of grass.   
  
Sharon knew Andrea's parents were both dead and that Andrea had lived with her grandmother in Montreal for the last 7 years. Sharon had heard a lot about Andrea's grandma. She was a docent at a history museum, and in her earlier life, she'd worked as a historic building restorationist. But Sharon hadn't heard anything about Andrea's parents. Not yet anyway. Sharon prepared to listen, heart open.  
  
Andrea continued, still looking down. "The other driver, the one who killed them, he'd had a drinking related accident the year before, where he'd killed his friend, the passenger. He should have been charged with vehicular manslaughter back then, but he wasn't. He was back on the highway as soon as he was out of the hospital bed. He didn't get prosecuted properly, so he didn't get treated. And since he didn't get treated, he didn't get help. And since he didn't get help, he was behind the wheel that night, having drunk enough to kill himself, much less other drivers..." Andrea fell silent, as if choosing whether or not to continue. Sharon held her breath, not wanting to spook the speaker. "My mom died on impact. My dad was taken to the ICU where he died seven hours later. He never woke up. But at least I got to see him before he went. I got to see him breathing, even if it was through a machine."  
  
"Andrea," Sharon had tears in her eyes. She reached out and touched Andrea on the back of her hand.  
  
The touch brought Andrea back into the present. She looked up, making eye contact with Sharon. Unlike most of Andrea's friends, Sharon had a depth, and a strength, that made Andrea feel like it was safe to share stories from the shadowy recesses of her soul.  
  
"That might make some people grow up wanting to be a doctor, telling themselves that a better surgeon could have saved my dad. But I want to prevent people from ever ending up in the hospital. I want a better justice system. I want people put people behind bars who belong there. I want the state to notice when someone is a threat to himself and others. I want people to get help." _I want to go back in time_ , she said to herself, in her head. That was one truth she chose not to share. Not yet anyway.  
  
Andrea was grounded, with a maturity beyond her years. Sharon was starting to realize where that came from.   
  
And it broke her heart.  
  
✢✢✢✢✢  
  
Andrea knocked on Sharon's door.  
  
Sharon opened it and immediately smiled. "Hey Andrea."  
  
"I was wondering if you'd like to go jogging with me. We can catch the sunset." This was the third time Andrea had asked in as many weeks.  
  
"Thanks for asking," Sharon said, honestly. "But maybe I should save you the trouble, and let you know that..." Sharon scrunched the left side of her face, apologetically, "...I actually hate running."  
  
"Really?" Andrea asked, totally shocked. "You're not just saying that because you don't want to run with me?"  
  
"Oh my goodness, no," Sharon said, stepping back from her doorframe, implicitly inviting Andrea inside. Andrea took the cue and entered. Sharon closed the door behind her. "If I was going to jog with anyone, it would be you, believe me," Sharon blushed as she said it. "But that's not the issue. I just really dislike running."  
  
"What changed?" Andrea asked.  
  
"Hmm?" Sharon wondered, cocking her head.  
  
Andrea clarified, "someone told me that you used to run a lot."  
  
Sharon furrowed her eyebrows, starting to solve the mystery. "By 'someone' do you mean Jack?"  
  
Andrea raised her forehead muscles in a way that meant 'yes.'  
  
"Ah," the realization dawned on Sharon like coming upon revelation in an Agatha Christie mystery. "My parents shared a car and they were always using it. So I got around in high school by walking and riding the bus. When I'd have to track Jack down, at one of his friends' houses, I'd jog across town. That was the only way to get from my neighborhood to their neighborhoods, in the evenings. And I was always short on time, so I wanted to do it as quickly as possible. Hence the running."

At some point during Sharon's monologue, Andrea sat down on the loveseat, and Sharon sat down on her bed, so they could still face one another.  
  
"Thanks for explaining." Andrea went on to ask about Sharon's parents, and Sharon obliged, sharing more than she ever had. And in doing so, she shed more than a few tears.  
  
As the sun started to set, Sharon reached over to turn on a light, only then realizing they'd talked so long that it was too late for Andrea's run.  
  
"I'm so sorry!" Sharon apologized.  
  
"Don't apologize," Andrea shook her head, "there's nothing I'd rather be doing than getting to know you better." This time, she was the one to blush. The moment she said it, she realized it sounded cheesy. But she meant it, wholeheartedly.  
  
"I like getting to know you too." Sharon assured her, defusing the embarrassment.  
  
Andrea felt a little bolder, after Sharon's reciprocation. "So, are there any physical activities you do enjoy?" What Andrea really meant was whether there was anything Sharon would be up for doing with her.  
  
"I like hiking. Not that I've spent much time in the great outdoors or anything. But there were a few field trips and opportunities here and there. And I loved every one of them. I like the feeling of varied terrain, discovering new vistas, being surrounded by wildlife and tuning into it, if you pause and listen closely enough."  
  
"You make hiking so poetic. My favorite poems are about nature. Well, they're about the human soul, or relationships, or what have you, but nature is the prime metaphor. Maybe we could go hiking together sometime." Andrea buried the invitation at the end of her rambling, so that if Sharon wasn't interested, it could be easily deflected.  
  
"I'd love to go hiking with you." Sharon beamed, already imagining how blissful it would be to have someone to spend silent trail time with, as well as someone with whom to share in deep conversation. They'd already discovered they liked being noisy, and quiet, with one another. Suddenly, she thought of another potential activity she'd always wanted to do more. "What about biking? How do you feel about riding bikes?"  
  
Andrea's expression changed, instantly. Her eyes fell to her lap. She suddenly became somber, reflective. "I haven't ridden one since I was eleven. But I used to love it. God, I used to love it so much. I think I could love it again," her eyes welled with tears. "If I took it slow. If I had help." She looked up into Sharon's empathetic eyes. Her soul sensed it was safe.  
  
"My parents had my bike in the trunk when..." Andrea trailed off, not finishing the sentence. Her memories were flooding her senses, not chronologically, but in degrees of severity. "I'd left it at the park... I got a ride home with a friend's mom, after soccer practice. So I just left it, knowing my mom or dad... Or both... I told my mom that night. I told her where it was. She kissed me on the forehead, drilled me on a few world capitals as she collected her keys. And coat. Yes... She picked up her coat. She told me to get ready for bed. She called into the kitchen where dad was doing dishes and humming something classical. He said he wanted to go with her... He dried his hands... They did almost everything together. They were best friends. They didn't like to be apart..." As Andrea broke down into tears, Sharon's arm was around her. She moved to join Andrea on the little loveseat. Sharon didn't try to tell her everything was going to be okay. She just held Andrea, steadily, so Andrea could drop down, let go, and feel everything she hadn't let herself feel for so long.  
  
Andrea rested her head in Sharon's lap, tucking her legs onto the loveseat so she could lay in a curled position. Sharon stroked Andrea's head, quietly shedding empathetic tears.  
  
✢✢✢✢✢  
  
They'd started hugging after their morning class. "Have a good day," Sharon would say.  
  
"See you in the library," Andrea would smile.   
  
After their last classes of the day, they'd meet in the law library. They didn't need to study together; they only had one class in common. It was more like they were studying near one another because it felt good - really good - to be in each other's presence.   
  
Sharon wondered if Andrea noticed that Sharon didn't turn pages very often. Sharon would find herself distracted, thinking about how close by Andrea was. She would imagine holding her hand or moving a strand of hair out of her face. More and more, she found herself attracted to the multifaceted Andrea, in a multifaceted way.  
  
One day in late October, the afternoon sun was diffusing through the clerestory windows with a holy glow. Sharon was staring at Andrea's lips.  
  
"Yes?" Andrea smiled, cocking her head at Sharon knowingly.  
  
Sharon blinked, coming back to her senses. The heat in her lower abdomen infused her with courage. She cleared her throat, touched Andrea on the back of the forearm, and leaned in, modulating her voice to an appropriate library decibel. "Do you ever feel..." She stopped herself, then started again. "Do you ever wonder about…"   
  
Andrea placed her other hand on the back of Sharon's, as if helping to ground her...ground them.  
  
Sharon swallowed, losing her nerve. "Do you ever wonder what would have happened if Chief Justice Vinson hadn't died and been replaced by Chief Justice Warren before the Brown v. Board decision?"  
  
Andrea smiled, without parting her lips. She was disappointed, but incredibly amused. "As a matter of fact, I have wondered about that," she whispered conspiratorially. "But is that really what you were wondering just now?"  
  
Sharon put on the most innocent face she possibly could, and nodded. But her commitment to telling the truth got the better of her, and her nod morphed into a shake of the head.  
  
"I love that about you," Andrea sighed.   
  
It sounded like Andrea meant a lot of things, all at once: _'I love that you always tell the truth,' 'I love that you are too shy to reveal how you feel about me,' and 'I love that you are quirky and nerdy enough to come up with a plausible cover-up.'_  
  
Sharon swallowed hard as she let herself absorb the adoration being expressed in Andrea's gaze.  
  
Much to Sharon's surprise, Andrea broke eye contact, and returned her eyes to her book, as if they could just go back to studying, as though nothing had happened. Sharon started worrying that maybe nothing had happened, except in her own mind. A moment later, Sharon felt Andrea's de-shoed foot, bump against her calf, then settle into an innocent stroking motion.  
  
Sharon's heart beat so loudly she thought it would disturb the other library patrons.  
  
For the rest of the afternoon, Sharon looked down at her book, slowly turning pages and taking notes when something struck her as interesting. Though nothing was more interesting than the way she and Andrea were using their feet to assure one another of their unspoken understanding.  
  
Every once in a while, Sharon looked up, over her glasses, and in her peripheral vision she could see that Andrea was smiling as contentedly as she felt.

✢✢✢✢✢


	3. Velocipede

Sharon weaved her way between the students, crammed into every nook and cranny of the house. Their inane conversations were loud, but they had to be, to rise up over the music that blared. After getting beer spilled in her hair, having someone electric slide into her side, and being called "baby" no less than three times, Sharon made her way across the thirty feet of space that separated her room from Andrea's. The feat was all the more dangerous because she wore her house slippers and held a coffee mug filled with water.

She knocked on Andrea's door. No response. She knocked again, noticing a faint light coming from beneath the door. Still nothing. She guessed there was a chance Andrea had ventured out of her room into the party that Jack and Andy were throwing. Sharon was about to turn away when the door opened a crack and she saw Andrea's eyes peer out through the slim opening. They both smiled, warmly, as they made eye contact.  
  
Andrea opened the door wider, reaching out to grab Sharon's wrist and tug playfully. Sharon hurried inside.  
  
The room was so small, it only fit a narrow desk and a narrow mattress. But, despite everything, or maybe because of it, the room was cozy, warm, dear. It was lit with little indirect lights that Andrea had pinned around the room, where the wall met the ceiling.  
  
"Welcome to the party antidote." Andrea smiled, motioning to her bed. "Have a seat."  
  
Sharon obliged, wanting nothing more than to be in this small room, with Andrea. "Have you been writing?"  
  
"Trying to," Andrea sighed, closing the open journal on her desk and taking a seat next to Sharon, on the bed.  
  
Someone slammed against the wall just outside the room. Andrea looked horrified. "We could play a game," Sharon suggested, trying to lift Andrea's mood. "Guess what the random sounds are: drunk stumble, dance move gone bad, or intense make out session?"  
  
"Why do I live here?" Andrea wrinkled her forehead in disgust.  
  
"Because it's cheap,” Sharon shrugged.  
  
"And because I never would have met you." Andrea reached out and placed her hand over the back of Sharon's hand.  
  
Sharon turned her palm face up, entwining their fingers.  
  
They both sighed, audibly.  
  
"I never want to leave this room," Sharon lamented.  
  
"Don't."  
  
"What happens when I have to pee?"  
  
"No more water for you." Andrea took the mug of water out of Sharon's other hand and placed it on her desk. "But seriously. You can stay here if you want."  
  
Sharon assumed Andrea meant until the partiers wound down. But Sharon hoped Andrea actually meant all night. Or forever.  
  
Sharon smiled. "I really like being here. With you."  
  
"I really like being with you too," Andrea streamlined the phrase, and their feelings.  
  
Their thumbs started caressing the back of the other person's hand.  
  
They leaned in, and kissed softly.  
  
Without letting go of her hand that was pleasantly entwined with Andrea's, Sharon's other hand reached around to grasp the back of Andrea's neck.  
  
They kissed gently, but deeply, for an unknown amount of time, the sounds outside the room gradually growing fainter. Their reverence for the moment - their first true acknowledgement of their feelings - was the only thing preventing them from acting more on their mutual attraction.  
  
They eventually got under the covers, clothes still on, entwining their bodies like they'd entwined their hands hours earlier.  
  
✢✢✢✢✢  
  
"How did you sleep?" Andrea smiled, as Sharon's eyelids fluttered, not yet accepting that daylight had taken the world.  
  
Andrea had been awake for probably an hour, reveling in the feeling of being so close to Sharon physically, and emotionally. Their faces were an inch apart and Andrea had been enjoying the feeling of Sharon's breath on her face, every time the sleeping Sharon exhaled. Some part of Andrea cautioned her heart that it was too soon to feel so strongly...but she'd never cared about someone so much. She could lay next to Sharon forever and never achieve another thing. Spending time with her was fulfilling, in and of itself.  
  
The muscles in Sharon's face awoke, as her eyes opened and she formed a lazy, content smile. "Really deeply. You?"  
  
"Best I've ever slept in this room."  
  
"That's pretty incredible, considering…"  
  
"A pack of wild hyenas were on the other side of the door, tearing up our house all night?"  
  
"Also considering this is a tiny bed."  
  
"I liked being cuddled up with you."  
  
"Me too."  
  
Sharon reached up and moved a piece of Andrea's hair that had escaped her ponytail, out of her eyes. Sharon had always wanted to do that. She was about to tell Andrea just that.  
  
"You've always wanted to do that?" Andrea read Sharon's mind.  
  
"Yes, how did you..."  
  
Andrea shrugged, as much as she could, considering she was laying on her side. "I could just tell. It was the way you looked at me. It was the way that look felt. Did you know I've always wanted to do this?"  
  
Andrea slipped her arm around Sharon's side and back, every inch of movement distinctly sensual. They'd hugged before, plenty of times. But there was an energy now that had been repressed before. Sharon shivered as electricity shot up her spine. Andrea caressed her back, through her sweatshirt, lovingly.  
  
It was as if they suddenly had permission to express the fullness of the affection they each felt. They weren't just comfortable in their vulnerability, they were comfortable because of their vulnerability. Sharon had never felt more safe. Neither had Andrea.  
  
They scooted towards one another on the pillow they shared, close enough that their lips could find one another, once again.  
  
The morning kiss was even more tender, more imbued with meaning. It was like an affirmation that everything that had transpired the night before was real. True. Here to stay.  
  
After an hour of kissing, and cuddling, and taking turns spooning one another, physically inviting the other person to rest her spine against the soft belly of the other, they found themselves face to face again, breath commingling.

Smiling softly, Sharon mused, "What now?" Sharon didn't even know what she meant, exactly. It was like she'd awoken in the pages of a book, and she wasn't sure what the next page, or chapter, or volume held, but she knew she would love every minute of it. She felt more hopeful and excited about the future than she ever had in her entire life.

Sharon's seemingly innocent question struck Andrea in the gut. Andrea's expression grew serious, as she feared the worst. What now was the kind of phrase you might ask yourself after waking up and realizing you'd made a huge mistake. What now could mean, 'how do we have a clandestine relationship, and not let anyone else know we're involved.' _What now_ could mean, 'how do we move past this, forget this moment, and still be friends.'

In high school, Andrea had fallen for a friend. The feelings seemed mutual. As soon as they kissed, Andrea imagined a whole life together opening up, but her friend backed away and backed away hard, saying she'd made a mistake, wanted to pretend the kiss hadn't happened, and couldn't be friends anymore.

"Andrea? What's wrong?" Sharon asked sympathetically, eyes searching Andrea's face for answers.

Andrea pushed herself up to a sitting posture, as if laying down was too vulnerable a position in which to receive bad news. "I'm just not sure what you mean by _what now_ ," Andrea revealed, forehead a sea of concern.

Sharon's heart understood, even if her head didn't. She assured Andrea, instinctively, sitting up and placing both hands on Andrea's knees. "I wasn't sure what I meant, either." Sharon smiled impishly, bringing her shoulders up as if asking a playful question. Her adorable shrug didn't relieve Andrea at all. Andrea was trapped in an old memory. Sharon ventured forward, fearlessly exposing her own soul, because she cared about Andrea so much, she couldn't bear to see her suffer. "Well, I can tell you some of what I meant by _what now_. I want to hang out with you nonstop for as long as you're game, and I'm not sure what we should choose for our next adventure."

Andrea started to lower her hackles. She made penetrating eye contact, saying softly, " _What now_ could also mean: how do we go on being friends, and pretend like this never happened."

"You mean, pretend _this_ never happened?" Sharon smiled deeply, understanding Andrea better by the second. Sharon leaned forward and kissed Andrea, flush on the mouth.

Andrea found herself kissing and smiling, at the same time, as it dawned on her that she was in the present moment, with Sharon, not stuck between the pages of her high school yearbook.

A thick strand of Andrea's hair fell away from her ponytail and down across her face, this time tickling Sharon's cheek as it fell. Without breaking the kiss, Sharon attempted to place the hair over Andrea's ear. They broke off their kiss as Sharon giggled.

"Here's an answer to _what now_ , for you." Andrea said with a smirk, overtly nonchalant, trying on this new way of being with Sharon. "I've been wanting to cut my hair. Will you help me?"  
  
Sharon grinned. Andrea’s request was so normalizing. That’s what made it so perfect. They didn't need to make grand proclamations, not now, not today. To show how they felt about one another, they just needed to make a continuous series of small, meaningful gestures that kept them spending time with one another and growing with each other. To Sharon, this everyday task of cutting hair was like a portent of things to come. It meant they could have life together: every part of life. The miraculous, and the mundane. Sharon was momentarily lost in the daydream of doing everything with Andrea, from now on.

"Well?" Andrea prompted; this time she was the one to smile playfully. "What do you say?"

"I’ve never cut hair before!" Sharon let out a barely stifled burst of laughter.

"What's the worst that could happen?" Andrea deadpanned, shrugging a single shoulder.

Sharon raised her eyebrows, as if to say, 'you very much know how bad it could be.'  
  
They broke into laughter, rolling onto their backs and clutching their bellies, before rolling back together, Sharon kissing Andrea's forehead, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.  
  
"I'm game if you are," Sharon said seriously, sitting up. "But first, we need to inspect the damage." Sharon tilted her head toward the rest of the house.  
  
✢✢✢✢✢  
  
"Shoes!" Sharon directed, realizing they both needed to put on shoes before stepping into the potentially sticky kitchen.  
  
They opened the door to Andrea's room cautiously, as if they weren't sure what wild animal carcasses they might find, strewn about.  
  
The first thing Sharon noticed was the odor.  
  
"Oh god, close your door! We don't want that smell invading your sanctuary."  
  
In contrast to the sublime, softly lit room, where everything felt like a relic on a sacred altar, the entire downstairs of their shared house was littered with red plastic cups, empty alcohol bottles, and articles of clothing.   
  
They tiptoed around, as if entering a crime scene, scoping it out to see if it was clear.  
  
Sharon took the living room, Andrea took the side room; they met on the other side of both, in the hallway. They looked at one another and shrugged.  
  
They glanced in the bathroom, pulling back the shower curtain. All clear.   
  
They opened the door to Sharon's room. Miraculously, it looked untouched.  
  
Sharon sighed, audibly. "Thank god. I was sure there'd be someone making out in here. Or at least evidence that someone had." But Sharon's bed looked impeccably made, just the way she'd left it.  
  
Andrea stepped carefully into Sharon's room, removing her shoes at the doorway and closing the door behind her.  
  
"Looks pristine," Andrea said, looking at Sharon's bed carefully before turning around and smiling at Sharon. "Still, we should get you a padlock for next time."  
  
Sharon shrugged. Suddenly there were things much more important in life than keeping her room as organized as a Dewey decimal system. "Ready for that hair cut?" Sharon grinned, picking the up the scissors on her desk.  
  
✢✢✢✢✢  
  
They put a chair in the middle of Sharon's room.  
  
"I don't know exactly. I just want it shorter."  
  
"Oh my god, I can't believe you trust me."  
  
"I do."  
  
Sharon was used to being responsible for other people, taking care of them, being the person they could lean on. But when Andrea said she trusted her, it felt different. It wasn't the feeble proclamation from another hanger on. It was like permission for Sharon to trust the equally strong Andrea, in turn.  
  
Before Sharon could respond, Andrea turned forward again and said, "Okay, I'm ready."  
  
"Aren't we being a little cavalier?"  
  
"Learn by doing,” Andrea shrugged.  
  
"Wait, you don't want to get little bits of hair all over your clothes. It'll be a pain to get rid of." Sharon blushed after the words left her mouth, aware of the implied solution.  
  
"You are adorable," Andrea smiled, looking up at her. "That wasn't a ploy. You are actually worried about the hair bits getting in my clothes."  
  
Sharon nodded, timidly.  
  
"I love that about you. You're so…" Andrea gave Sharon a look of overacted seduction, rolling the word around her tongue. "…careful." The tension burst as they both started laughing.  
  
Sharon let herself fall onto the loveseat, clutching her stomach with laughter, but not before carefully placing the scissors on her nightstand.  
  
"See?" Andrea pointed out as they fell into an even deeper fit of laughter.

"Okay, but in all seriousness." Sharon raised her eyebrows towards Andrea, trying to sound nonchalant, even as she felt herself becoming aroused, at the prospect. "I'm just being practical here."  
  
"Sharon," Andrea looked at her saucily. A growing smile revealed her desire, before she said it. "If I'm getting naked, you are too."  
  
✢✢✢✢✢  
  
An hour later, Andrea's blond hair was strewn across Sharon's floor.  
  
"I love it," she exclaimed, looking in Sharon's handheld mirror.  
  
Sharon suspected hair cuts didn't usually take an hour and a half. And they usually didn't take place in one's underwear. Or with your barber in her underwear.  
  
"Okay, I'm just going to be honest here…" Sharon started.  
  
"Another thing I love about you," Andrea interrupted, looking up at Sharon with an expression of adoration. "Your commitment to honesty."

Sharon felt herself turn red, and for the first time in her life she had reason to wonder whether other parts of her body blushed, besides her cheeks.

Andrea knew it was hard for Sharon to accept compliments of any kind. "Like I've always said, you are great at giving but you stink at receiving. Just accept that you are awesome in so many ways."

Sharon shyly shook her head, at a loss for words.

Andrea continued. "Okay, go ahead. What were you going to be honest about?"  
  
"I was going to say, this not wearing clothes thing might not have been the best idea."  
  
"I think it's awesome. Now I have about a hundred more things I love about you." Andrea lifted her fingers and started bending them back one-by-one, as if ticking off the first five on her list. "Your collarbones, your belly button, the curve of your butt right there."  
  
"Oh my god, you're making me shy!" Sharon exclaimed, at some level wishing she was wearing more than her bra and panties; at another level wishing she was wearing less.  
  
"No, no, please. I don't mean to embarrass you, Sharon. That's the last thing I want to do. I'm sorry."  
  
"Don't apologize. I'm just not used to being complimented by someone who's opinion I actually care about."  
  
"You're used to being adored by people you don't respect?"  
  
"Exactly."  
  
They shared a knowing grin.  
  
"I'm honored that you care what I think," Andrea said, seriously.  
  
"Are you kidding?" Sharon burst. "You're, you're amazing. I've never actually cared what anyone thought, until I met you. I love you." It just tumbled out of her. A look of terror crossed her face as she realized what she'd said.  
  
Before Sharon could turn her self-shock into real panic, Andrea said slowly, deliberately, "I love you, too."  
  
Sharon put down the scissors as Andrea stood up.  
  
They stepped into one another's arms, hands on one another's cheek, jaw, neck.  
  
This time, their kiss carried a fervent heat, not just a smoldering warmth. Their mouths opened and their tongues danced, tasting one another. Sharon made "mmmm" sounds, unable to hide her pleasure.   
  
Sharon broke away and panted, catching her breath.  
  
"So, what were you saying about nakedness being a bad idea?" Andrea said with her familiar tone of teasing sarcasm.  
  
"I was going to tell you, that I was so distracted by your body, I don't think I did a good job with your hair."  
  
"You were going to tell me that?"  
  
"I was working up the courage to, yes."  
  
"Well, I think you did a great job." Andrea shook her head vigorously so her now shorter than shoulder length hair flew up in the hair and fell down again, adjusting itself.  
  
"You should shower off,” Sharon suggested, practically. "I can always do touch up later, if need be."  
  
"Good idea," Andrea smiled.  
  
"You can borrow my towel," Sharon offered.   
  
"Thanks. But fair warning: I may get little bits of hair all over it."  
  
"That's okay," Sharon smiled. "Totally worth it."  
  
✢✢✢✢✢  
  
Sharon heard Andrea close the bathroom door down the hall and start the shower.  
  
Sharon lay back on her bed, exhausted from the act of not consummating their relationship. She closed her eyes and imagined Andrea's lips on her own again. Then, she imagined them on her ear, her throat, her collarbone. "Mmmmm," Sharon heard herself murmur. She opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling, shocked by the indiscretion of her own imagination.

She could hear the water running down the hall and pictured a fully naked Andrea, rubbing herself in the shower. Sharon felt her mouth go dry, as it hit her just how much she wanted to make love to Andrea. She wanted to be as close as possible, to learn the secrets of their bodies, to express everything she felt but couldn't articulate. She wanted to show Andrea how much she cared. And she wanted to be completely vulnerable, in turn. Sharon's eyes fell closed again, dwelling in a warm, all encompassing daydream for an unknown amount of time, until she heard a gentle knock on her door.

"Come in," Sharon called. She suddenly realized she was still laying on her back, staring at the ceiling. She sat up so hurriedly, she knocked a pillow off her immaculate bed just as Andrea walked in. Flustered, Sharon crossed her legs, casually.

Andrea smirked good naturedly, and made a show of looking around suspiciously, as if she was interrupting something. Then, with a similarly forced casualness, Andrea unwrapped the towel from her body; standing in her bra and underwear again, she reached out to hang the towel on the wall hook. Andrea missed the hook and the towel fell towards the floor. Sharon stifled a giggle. Andrea caught the towel, and on her second attempt, managed to hang it. But there was no doubt about it: Andrea was conspicuously flush and flustered, as if something was on her mind, too. "Thanks for the towel," Andrea said, her throat sounding parched.

"Don't mention it." Sharon choked on her words.

"I'm going to get dressed now," Andrea declared.  
  
Sharon nodded.  
  
"And then I'm going to clean up your room," Andrea continued.

"Oh! I..." Sharon stammered, "I…" Typical Sharon behavior would have been to sweep up the loose hair, as quickly as possible. It was obvious she had been so distracted by something, she hadn't bothered to clean up.

"No need to explain…" Andrea shook her head, biting the inside of her lower lip to prevent herself from breaking into a knowing grin as she mentally noted the slightly mussed bed. She modestly turned her back to Sharon as she pulled her hoody and shorts over her underwear.

Andrea and Sharon each smiled to themselves, confident they were on the same page in terms of another possible answer to <i>what now</i>.

✢✢✢✢✢  
  
The rest of that semester was like a dream. Sharon had never been so happy.  
  
They usually spent the night in Andrea's cozy room, made breakfast together, went to their respective classes, then met up in the library where they sat side-by-side, holding hands while they studied, and playing footsie under the table. In the evenings, they'd hang out in Sharon's room, perched on her loveseat, bed, or floor, talking and laughing, confessing fears, vulnerabilities, and dreams.  
  
Sharon shared about her family, in ways she never had with anyone. Andrea talked about her past too, sharing about old girlfriends and boyfriends, revealing that because she lost her parents at a young age, she had an especially strong desire to bond with someone else. Andrea hinted at her fear that she was living out that habit, even now. After all, her day started and ended with Sharon on her mind. Even in her dreams they were together; exploring the world, exploring each other.

So, Sharon broached the concept of them moving more slowly, being more casual, maybe not spending every day and every night together, not because she wanted to change anything about their current rhythm, but because she wanted Andrea to feel comfortable. She wanted Andrea to be acting out of love, not trauma. "Maybe it would help us to think about the normal speed of relationship development. Let's think about how normal people date each other, in terms of cadence, frequency, intensity," Sharon suggested.  
  
Andrea loved feeling seen, heard, and understood by Sharon. She realized that with this much awareness of one another and this much attentiveness to their own hearts, she had nothing to fear. "I might have forced things with other people in the past, but that doesn't mean what we have isn't profoundly real. And it doesn't mean we need to change what's working and what's making us happy. I'm perfectly content being abnormal, if you're okay being abnormal with me," Andrea grinned. "Besides, have you ever done anything casually, in your entire life?" It was Andrea's turn to show Sharon how much she saw and understood about Sharon.

Sharon made a show of searching her memory bank. "No," she said conclusively, grinning at where Andrea's line of logic was taking them.  
  
"So," Andrea shrugged, "we can pretend we're going to take it slow, if you want. But I think we'll just be fooling ourselves."  
  
Andrea was like a divining rod of truth. Sharon tackled Andrea, pushing them back against Andrea's bed, pressing her lips against Andrea's mouth.  
  
After a minute of fervent kisses, Sharon came up for air. She propped herself on one elbow and shrugged her other shoulder as she looked down at Andrea's contented smile. "Slow is a relative concept. So, we can take it slow for us," Sharon nodded decisively. "That doesn't mean it's slow compared to the rest of the world."  
  
"Sounds good to me," Andrea laughed, pulling Sharon back down, on top of her.

✢✢✢✢✢

This Thanksgiving morning, Sharon was flooded with gratitude...

...and other sensations.

Sharon arched her spine, eyes rolling back in her head, grateful that for once she didn't need to muffle her own moan.

Their only housemate whose room was also on the ground floor, had left yesterday to spend Thanksgiving with his family. Eric's mom, Professor Magnussen, taught at their school, so for him, going home for holidays was as convenient as driving across town.

And that glorious reality was why Sharon could let her lips fall apart as her knees did, unconstrained sounds of ecstasy filling the small room. Andrea, for her part, was grateful to hear the fullness of Sharon's voice; it was like a jolt of impassioned electricity that infused her with a new surge of energy.

Sharon's eyelids fluttered open, for only seconds at a time, the world becoming a series of gorgeous still photographs.

And she was grateful for all she saw.

In the background, the snow decorated the big tree outside Andrea's window. In the foreground, Andrea was nestled between her legs, tirelessly dedicated to her mission of giving Sharon pleasure.

"Dear god, Andrea, mmmm..."

Sharon's eyes snapped open and her jaw snapped shut, as she heard a commotion, on the other side of the bedroom wall. Sharon reached down and touched Andrea on the shoulder, just as Andrea paused, apparently noticing the voices, too.

Andrea looked up along the length of Sharon's rising and falling abdomen as they made eye contact. Sharon pressed a finger to her mouth. Andrea nodded, kissing the inside of Sharon's thigh, gently, as a way of mutually bookmarking the scene.

They got dressed, wordlessly. When they were ready, Andrea opened her door and they stepped into the mayhem.

Their housemates were assembled, dressed in coats, hats, and mittens, as if layered up for an outing. But they were either agitated or cold, because they hopped from foot to foot, and rubbed their hands together, briskly.

"Was the heat off down here all night, too?" Clare asked.

Andrea and Sharon looked at one another blankly, then shrugged at their housemates.

"We should take a page out of your book," Hannah smirked, reading her housemates like open volumes. "The heat breaks in the middle of winter and you two don't even notice." Her wink was teasing, yet congratulatory.

Despite the cold air starting to seep into Sharon's skin now that they had left their cozy haven, she felt herself turning red. They'd told their housemates as soon as they'd started dating. But Sharon wasn't showy. She liked attention for her academic accomplishments, not her personal life. So although she was deeply proud of what she and Andrea had, she didn't want their relationship in anyone's viewfinder.

Andrea sensed Sharon's unease, and quickly stepped toward the fridge, pulling it open dramatically. "Wow, it feels like it's warmer inside the fridge than outside." The proclamation had the desired effect and the smirks evaporated from their housemates' faces as they became consumed by this new, outrageous fact.

Sharon smiled at Andrea, gratefully. Then, Sharon's eyes grew wide as something else occurred to her. Sharon moved towards the turkey she'd left on the kitchen counter to defrost. She'd intended to cook them a house Thanksgiving dinner, but as she knocked her knuckles against the large bird, she marveled aloud. "It refroze!" She broke into a loud, unapologetic laugh.

Their landlord turned out to be unreachable over the Thanksgiving holiday. So, Eric's mom invited everyone to come and stay for a few days. Everyone gratefully accepted, excited about the novelty of camping out on Professor Magnussen's livingroom floor. Everyone accepted, except for Sharon and Andrea, that is.

Eric swung by in his car and picked up their housemates for the quick jaunt across town. Sharon and Andrea helped carry their housemates' sleeping bags to the front door.

"Have fun," Hannah winked, stepping onto the front porch and closing the door behind her. The door reopened, a second later. Hannah stuck her head back in. "I mean, thanks for watching the house." She smiled more softly and closed the door again, obviously not wanting to embarrass her housemates. Sharon and Andrea heard Hannah thunder down the steps and jump into Eric's car with the rest of their pals.

"We live with good people," Andrea said aloud, as Sharon nodded.

✢✢✢✢✢

Their housemates didn't mind the growing closeness between Sharon and Andrea. In fact, the joy that emanated from the Andrea and Sharon partnership was contagious. Their housemates seemed happy to bask in it.

One night, just after midterms, Clare brought home extra tubs of ice cream from a mock trial event she'd thrown. She declared it an impromptu ice cream party for the house. They all gathered in the upstairs living room, clinking spoons, passing around the tubs, not bothering to divide the contents into individual bowls. Besides, it was more fun this way. Eric promised to regale them with stories of Professor intrigue that he'd heard from his mom, but he made everyone swear not to pass on the tales. They solemnly swore their oath by each taking a simultaneous bite of chocolate ice cream.

Andrea and Sharon sat in an armchair. Andrea was set deeper in the chair, her back against its back. Sharon leaned languidly against Andrea, her head relaxed and resting on Andrea's shoulder, except for when she sat up to stick her spoon in a tub and merrily eat a bite, or, when she threw her head forward in shock or laughter, at one of Eric's retellings.

Andrea kissed Sharon's forehead with sticky lips and whispered, "Babe, can you get up, I've gotta pee."

When Andrea had left the room, Sharon pulled her legs under her and nestled more deeply into the chair, her spine still relaxed, her curved body reminiscent of a lounging cat.

Jack carried the tub of strawberry over and held it out for Sharon, since Andrea's long arms were temporarily missing from the passing circle, and since it seemed like a shame to make Sharon get up when she looked so comfortable. Sharon thanked him with a smile and dug her spoon in.

Jack smiled back and started talking in a low voice. "Sharon, I don't want to make you self-conscious, so just tell me to stop if you don't want to hear it, but..."

"Go ahead, Jack," Sharon prompted, truly at ease with whatever he might be hesitating to say.

"See, case in point!" He waved his spoon in her direction. "The Sharon I first met, back in high school, the Sharon I knew even last year, that Sharon would have been concerned about what I was going to say, what anyone was going to say, especially if it was going to be about her. That Sharon was worried and nervous, all the time. That Sharon was sad." Jack shook his head as if shaking off the memories. "You had it rough Sharon. I know we never talked about it because I didn't want to embarrass you. But it wasn't fair how much was on your shoulders." Sharon noticed his fists clench and unclench, unthinkingly, at his side. "You worked so hard, harder than any kid should. Anyway, I don't want to make you self-conscious or anything." Sharon blinked at Jack, wondering if it was the lighting in the room, or whether his eyes were actually glassy. He turned his head slightly and she concluded that it wasn't the lightning: a thin veil of moisture coated his eyes.

"All I'm trying to say is, you deserved to have fun, to be happy. You've always deserved that. I was obviously not the lug head for you." He pretended to knock himself in the head with his spoon, self-deprecatingly. "But I've never been so happy for someone else. Whatever you have with Andrea, keep it, hang on to it, go with it, roll with it, whatever you want to say, but just, just know that you've got something good. Something good for you, I mean. You're happy. You're happy all the time, and I'd never seen you truly happy even once before. Ever. Winning state wasn't happiness; it was like pain relief after a long ordeal. This, this is something else."

Sharon pushed herself up, perching on the arm of the armchair, wrapping her arms around Jack in a hug. He couldn't hug back, because of the tub in his hand, and because her affection took him by surprise. "Thank you," she whispered, before letting him go.

"Strawberry!" Hannah called, realizing they were going to have a pileup of tubs at one end of the room, if Jack didn't pass the ice cream to the next person.

✢✢✢✢✢

In the spring, Sharon got strep throat and Andrea took care of her.

"Sharon O'Dwyer, you are so talented at so many things. It breaks my heart to say this, but you are terrible at being a sick person."

Sharon started laugh-coughing. "How could I be terrible at being sick? Look at me; I am sick. I couldn't be more sick if I tried."

"Yes, you are sick and what sick people do is lay in bed and get waited on. And that is what I am doing for you. Right now. So, get back in bed, you."

"Okay, okay!" Sharon stepped away from the kitchen cabinets, put down the pot in her hand, and got back in bed. In Andrea's bed, to be precise. Andrea sat on the edge of it, near Sharon's arms.

"Strep throat is contagious. I read about it," Sharon warned.

"Well, I won't be sucking on your tonsils in the near future, that's for sure."

"But you could get sick from my coughing..." Sharon coughed, as if inspired by her own power of suggestion.

"And I am choosing to take that risk, okay? Now, quiet. Someone needs rest and all your talking is keeping her up."

Miraculously, Andrea never did get sick that season. And Sharon experienced something she never had before: someone truly caring for her, without strings attached. So, despite the fact that she was missing lectures, and had to call in sick to her library job, she actually felt remarkably settled, happy, and safe. So did Andrea. And during one of their late night conversations, Andrea revealed that she felt ready to ride a bike again. Her motivation was that she really, really wanted to ride places together. She nearly squealed with delight when she described how much fun it could be to pack picnics and ride to the state park on the edge of town.

So, when Sharon got better, Sharon bought two used bikes from a secondhand store, scrubbed them down as best she could, and before going to bed, leaned them against the big tree in the backyard, as a surprise.

In the morning, when Andrea awoke, Sharon was already sitting up, looking out the window.

"Morning. You're chipper this morning." Andrea assessed Sharon's body language, groggily.

"It's a beautiful day," Sharon said, smiling down at the sleepy-eyed Andrea.

Andrea sat up with effort and joined Sharon in looking out the window. After about ten seconds of slowly taking in the day, Andrea remarked, "Hey, who's bikes are those?"

"Hmm, maybe we should go find out," Sharon said, raising her eyebrows and one shoulder, cheekily.

Andrea woke up the rest of the way, in an instant. "Sharon?" Andrea didn't want to get her hopes up too much if she'd misinterpreted, but then again, Sharon's face was easy to read when she wanted it to be. Andrea started pulling on her sweatpants and t-shirt, not bothering with underwear.

Sharon followed suit, getting dressed quickly and following Andrea out of the room, then out of the backdoor of the house.

There were two tags attached to the bikes.

One said: "Andrea. Here's to the rides we'll take and the places we'll go."

The other said: "I treasure everywhere we've already been, on our side-by-side adventures."

Andrea looked at Sharon, tears in her eyes.

"And," Sharon added, "The bikes are unique. One of a kind, you could say. So, you get to test drive them and pick which one is yours."

They went inside to put on more suitable clothes, then came back out and wheeled the bikes to the empty lot a street over.

Sharon brought tools and adjusted the seats and handlebars to fit Andrea perfectly. Sharon could tell Andrea was nervous, because Andrea was determinedly wearing her most impassive expression.

Andrea got on one of the bikes for a test ride. After a few wobbly turns of the handlebars, something seemed to click, her labored pumping became smooth, and she started riding confident circles around a beaming Sharon.


	4. Locomotive

The summer after their sophomore year, they took a train to Montreal. They'd each gotten internships at attorney's offices and they planned to stay with Andrea's grandmother, Marie. At Andrea's insistence, they brought their bikes on the train. Sharon pointed out that the carriage fee was more than she'd paid for the bikes themselves, and she suggested they buy and resell a pair of multi-gear bikes in Montreal. But Andrea didn't want a fancier bike. She liked the ones Sharon had gotten them.

As they sat in their side by side seats on the train, enjoying their view of the Hudson River Valley, Andrea mused, "We should come back here some autumn, when the leaves turn."

"Mmmhmm," Sharon hummed her consent.

After ten minutes of pleasant silence, Sharon turned her gaze from the window, to Andrea. "Tell me again how you plan on introducing me to your grandma."

"Besides with a list of your accomplishments and winning personality traits?"

"You know what I mean."

"Well, since she's already heard all about you, and since I've already told her that I love you, I'll probably say something like, 'Grandma, this is Sharon.'"

Sharon smiled, despite herself, before turning serious again. "What if she doesn't like me? What if she thinks I'm wrong for you?"

"Sharon," Andrea kissed the crease in Sharon's forehead, the apparent epicenter of her worry, "I know her. And I know you. And I know she will love you. But just to be clear..." Andrea reached for both of Sharon's hands, holding them gently, yet firmly. "There's nothing anyone could think about you, that would affect how I feel about you. I love you, Sharon. I want to be with you. No one could ever change that."

Sharon pressed her lips together and nodded, holding back her tears, amazed that once again, Andrea had seen through her surface concern and addressed her underlying fear.

✢✢✢✢✢

Andrea's grandmother adored Sharon, instantly. They shared interests, like history and art, and they both enjoyed long conversations about those and other topics.

Their first night in Andrea's old bedroom, Sharon snuggled deep into Andrea's side and whispered, "You were right. I think she likes me."

"Sorry, what was that?" Andrea prodded, a smile breaking out on her face.

"You were right," Sharon mumbled, in between kissing Andrea's shoulder.

This was a game they played. They each loved to be right, and to be frank, they were each correct quite often. So, with one another, they made a point of saying the other person was right, whenever it was deserved. Although they acted reluctant to give one another props, that was part of the game. In truth, they were each thrilled to be with someone as strong and smart and "right" as the other.

✢✢✢✢✢

Over the course of the summer, on more than one occasion, Andrea yawned at her two companions across the cleared dinner table, interrupting their conversation to say, sleepily, "You youngsters may be able to talk all night, but I'm turning in." Marie would smile, remembering how much she missed her granddaughter's teasing sense of humor. Then, Marie would collect their tea cups, usher the girls to bed, and say she'd see them in the morning.

Marie knew herself well enough to know from whom Andrea had gotten her sass. There was a time, after her son and daughter-in-law had passed, that Marie worried she was exposing Andrea to adult conversation at too young an age. But Andrea leaned into those discussions, unafraid to form strong opinions and engage in spirited debate, even when she was the youngest person at a dinner party by two decades. And along with her ability to think deeply about the world and grapple with sociopolitical complexities, the young Andrea had developed an arch sense of humor. On a twelve year old, it was entertaining, to say the least. Marie hadn't cultivated her own archness until later in life, when she had more confidence, nothing to lose, and no reason to appease or impress others. So, from the age of eleven until now, whenever Andrea retorted or interjected with confident sarcasm beyond her years, Marie had to stifle a chuckle.

Marie trusted her own evaluation of people; she had always been astute. Andrea seemed to have inherited that ability to quickly read people and unashamedly pass judgement. But Andrea didn't see as clearly or judge as readily when it came to those she loved. One thing Marie had noticed about all of Andrea's previous partners, beginning with a classmate in the 9th grade, was that Andrea wasn't fully met. Andrea invariably had more intellectual horsepower or healthy ambition than the girls and boys she brought home. That wasn't just the protective grandmother talking; it was fact.

And what made Marie most concerned was that Andrea exhibited a greater capacity to love, than the young people she had dated. Part of it was age and experience; some of them would certainly grow in their abilities to love. But it took courage to let your heart expand at its edges. Andrea seemed willing to go there, to do that, from the time she lost her parents, her heart expanding in capacity each time she dated someone new. Her peers held back their hearts, whether they knew it or not, at some level afraid to let go and get hurt. Marie knew that at its worst, not being met intellectually could be stifling. At its worst, not being met in terms of drive could cause inertia. But at its best, not being met in terms of one's ability to love, was insidiously heartbreaking; you couldn't tell you were giving more than you gave, because you were so dedicated to being generous with your own heart.

All of that is why Marie adored Sharon. Sharon truly met Andrea in intellect, drive, and generosity of heart. And Sharon not only had a profound capacity to love, she loved Andrea, specifically.

Andrea had never seemed happier, and that made a grandmother's heart soar.

For the first time since Andrea's parents died, Marie knew that Andrea would be okay.

✢✢✢✢✢

Their bikes lay prone on the sloping grass, a few feet away.

Andrea and Sharon leaned back on their elbows, ankles crossed, looking down the expansive green hill. They observed picnicking families, juggling teenagers, and other lovestruck couples, who were laughing with heads together, holding one another, or kissing openly as if the world was blessed to bear witness.

On this weekend summer day, Mont Royal park contained just the right number of people. There were enough folks to make it festive to be amidst the joyful roil of humanity. But it wasn't so crowded that you felt depressingly anonymous or like you didn't have privacy.   

The night before, during dinner with Andrea's grandma, the three of them had gotten to talking about how Sharon's bucket list included every art museum in Europe. Marie gently broached that it's "perfectly reasonable to take time off before law school, to maybe travel a bit."

Now, perhaps inspired by her grandmother's suggestion, Andrea had started making plans. They'd already committed to spending the next year in the house with their housemates, but the following year, their Senior year, she and Sharon agreed to get an apartment for just the two of them. After that, they'd take a year to backpack and travel, before heading to law school and the rest of life. When they talked about where they'd like to practice law, they both expressed an interest in the western US; California, specifically.

These plans would have been daydreams, except with Sharon, their daydreams actually became reality. After all, here Andrea was, in a park she'd grown up in, having ridden here with her lover on their bicycles. Andrea sighed.

"Hmmm? You okay, love?" Sharon asked, turning her face towards Andrea, squinting at the sun in the process.

"More than okay." Andrea sighed again. "Just happy."

Sharon smiled, satisfied with the answer, feeling similarly happy, herself.

They inched their hands together and interlocked their fingers as they continued gazing ahead, across the colorful foreground to the picturesque horizon.

✢✢✢✢✢

On the way home from Montreal, they stopped in Sharon's hometown.

It was Andrea's first time to meet Sharon's family. Unlike Andrea's quiet, cultured grandmother, Sharon's family was loud and uncontainable.

Sharon's parents were proud to drive Sharon passed the modest, three bedroom house they had just put a down payment on. Closing was in a few days, and her family would move in, right after that. Sharon's brothers described the house in great detail, including the trees in the backyard and how they planned to divide the bedrooms.

"Your room is the living room, Sharon," nine year old Marky bubbled happily, knowing that a couch to oneself was more than Sharon had had in the past.

Sharon's dad explained, optimistically, that there was also room for adding on later. "If business goes according to plan, we can build an addition and add a room or two in a couple of years. After that, next stop is getting that ski cabin we always talked about." He grinned, elbowing Sharon in the side, playfully. "Do you ski, Andrea?" her dad asked, inclusively.

Sharon had tears in her eyes, seeing the joy on the faces of her family members, and seeing her dad's pride at having landed on their feet. It was hard to believe that only a few years ago, they were living on the edge.

"Hey babe, are you okay?" Andrea asked during their train ride back to campus. This time, Andrea had taken the window seat and Sharon had taken the isle, so it wasn't until Andrea turned to look at Sharon just now that she realized Sharon's heart was heavy.

"I'm just reflecting," Sharon admitted, shifting her gaze from the window to Andrea's eyes. "And, I'm a little self-conscious. Your grandmother is amazing. Her stories, her friends... Her world is what I like to pretend I've come from. Meanwhile, my family is so..." she trailed off and shook her head, unsure what to say.

"Enthusiastic?" Andrea offered.

"I was going to say undignified," Sharon humphed.

"Sharon, what makes you say that?" Andrea furrowed her forehead.

"God, I've wanted to be a lawyer for as long as I can remember. But I look at my family, and I worry that lawyers don't come from families like mine. My dad is really good at what he does, and he's so friendly, he'd make friends with anyone, but he's not cultured. My mother isn't impressive or educated; we don't exactly have intellectual dinner conversations."

"They're good people, Sharon. You're lucky to have them." Sharon felt a pang of guilt, imagining that Andrea would give anything to have her parents back. "And the answer is yes. Of course lawyers come from families 'like yours.' You've kept some of your parents' best qualities - you're accepting of different kinds of people, you know how to be part of a team, you have a strong work ethic - but you're also you're own person - a brilliant, amazing person. You're not limited by what they've done, or haven't done, with their lives,” Andrea said.

"You don't think less of me now that you've met them?"

Andrea looked at Sharon with an 'are you crazy' expression.

"Sorry," Sharon shook her head at herself. "Sometimes, I just don't understand how it is that I get to be with you. I wonder if I'm going to wake up one day, and all of this will have been a dream."

"I know what you mean. I have the same fear," Andrea let her eyes fall to her lap as her heart twinged with pain. She recalled the feeling of waking up from her recurring nightmare: the nightmare where Sharon separates their bicycles, takes one, puts it in a car, and drives away, an act of breaking up with Andrea. Andrea knew the dream had to do with her own parents, but still, she couldn't shake it. She had it once every few weeks.

Sharon sensed Andrea had been spooked by something in her own mind. She reached out and gently placed her hand on Andrea's thigh. Andrea looked up, noticing Sharon's empathetic eyes and unflinching love. It steadied her. Andrea spoke, to ground herself. "But I'm learning to believe in our reality. I really am."

"Me too." Sharon sighed, believing.

✢✢✢✢✢

Andy and Jack were the last of the housemates to saunter into the upstairs living room for their weekly house gathering. It was Jack who'd coined the term. It used to be called, 'house meeting,' but Jack pointed out that the phrase made it sound like they were all in trouble with one another or had serious business to discuss. Sure, sometimes they had to do logistical things, like divide up a utility bill or figure out how to fix a leaky shower head, but mostly it was the house's weekly opportunity to get together for an evening and catch up on each other's lives.

As Andy and Jack plopped down on the couch, nodding hello to everyone, Sharon looked expectantly at her housemates from her position in the armchair, subtly asking to open the floor. "We wanted to let you know..."

"By we, she means her and me," Andrea clarified helpfully, from where she sat on the floor, her back beside Sharon's legs.

"I think we guessed that," Hannah smiled, amused.

Sharon continued, purposefully, "Andrea and I wanted to let you know that next year, we won't be living here. We're going to move into a two bedroom apartment."

Eric pouted, dramatically. Clare put her hand over her heart, her face simultaneously revealing 'I'll miss you' and 'I'm so happy for you.'

"But the good news is," Sharon jumped to qualify, wanting to lift everyone's spirits. "It's just half a block away, in the Lyman building. We'll still see each other all the time."

The room erupted into a soundscape of "awww" and "sounds great" and "we'll miss you."

"First of all," Jack cleared his throat as everyone quieted, "most people would be considered courteous if they gave notice maybe two, three months in advance. Leave it to you two to be so ridiculously polite as to inform us..." Jack turned his wrist and mimed looking at an invisible wristwatch. "...eleven months ahead of time." Sharon lifted her shoulders and smiled impishly, aware that she and Andrea were being extra considerate. Jack looked back and forth, from Sharon to Andrea, not done with his point. "But that does beg the question: do you two wanna get outta here now? We could find subletters, you know," he offered.

"Oh, no! That's not what we want!" Sharon shook her head and turned to Andrea, for support.

"We're happy to be in the house this year guys. Don't get us wrong. We love living with all of you, it's just that next year..." Andrea trailed off, at a loss for what to say. She was thinking: it's just that next year, we want to start the rest of our lives together.

Hannah stepped into the silence, saving the day. "No need to explain. We understand. And we are so happy for you." Hannah had a knack for speaking for a group of people, and having that group of people being okay with it. She could have a career in politics, if she wanted it.

The rest of the room nodded and smiled, as if saying a pre-goodbye to a pair of friends who had just announced their engagement.

✢✢✢✢✢

“Hey you. Happy birthday,” Andrea whispered, nibbling on Sharon’s ear from behind as she spooned her slowly waking sweetie.

“Hmmm?” Sharon seemed confused in her half-awake state.

They woke slowly, enjoying each other and the morning, letting themselves greet the day in the best way possible: sleepy naked cuddling.

Eventually, Andrea asked, “So, I’ve asked you many times what you want today, but you’re so non-materialistic, I don’t know what to do with myself. Tell me a secret wish, Sharon. Something besides flying to the Louvre; something I can afford, but something you’ve always secretly wanted, or wanted to do. There has to be something, sweet one.”

Sharon closed her eyes, reaching deep into herself, calling up an old memory, a persistent dream. “Okay, so, I actually have always wanted to do something kinda weird. Something other people probably wouldn't be into. Something we could try, if you’re up for it.”

Andrea was glad she was spooning Sharon, so her reddening face wasn't visible as her imagination ran rampant.

Sharon continued. “Until I met you, I’d never known what home felt like. This bed, this space, this embrace here with you: this is home. But until you came along, all I had was the library. Don’t laugh.” Of course, Andrea didn’t. She reached farther around Sharon, stroking Sharon's stomach, listening completely. “I thought of the library as home, even though I never slept the night in one. But I've always wanted to. I can’t explain why.”

“Say no more,” Andrea whispered, vaulting over Sharon, kissing Sharon on both eyelids before opening her closet, and pulling two backpacks down off the top shelf. “Operation overnight has just begun." She turned around and winked at Sharon, who was still tucked sweetly, in her bed.

Andrea knew that for her, home would always be that vision.

✢✢✢✢✢

“It’s colder here than I thought it would be!” Sharon whispered, huddled against Andrea for warmth.

They’d executed their plan perfectly. They’d parked their bikes in a discreet location, a few blocks away. They'd entered the library early enough in the day that no one would remember when they came in. They'd made a point to walk in the entrance monitored by staff they were the least friendly with, so their arrival wouldn't be marked by memorable pleasantries.

Then, at a designated time, an hour before closing, they each made their way, separately, to an appointed location, deep in the stacks.

For an hour, they stayed still, allowing the motion sensors to turn the lights off so the guards wouldn’t even bother coming back their way. Sure enough, at 8pm, they heard the guards do the last call, then jingle their keys and exit, one by one.

The thrill of breaking a rule, much less a rule in the library, made Sharon excited in ways she couldn’t even articulate.

What she could articulate was that she was deeply in love with Andrea.

Of course, it wasn’t about this one escapade. It was everything.

Once the coast was clear, they emerged from their hidden spot. They tiptoed at first, as if treading on hallowed ground, afraid to awaken some nocturnal book beast. As familiar as they were with the library, being inside it in this context was like seeing a painting in a new light. It was morphing, before their eyes, into something more than it was before: it transformed from being a public space to a private chamber, a personal, magical realm.

They explored the building for hours, Sharon gripping Andrea's elbow as they strolled through the stacks, enjoying the freedom of being loud in the library and having access to any book in sight. They read aloud to each other. Sharon even adopted a theatrical tone, calling on her debate days, and conjuring confident, presentational mannerisms as she acted out dialogues from playbooks and hummed invented intermezzo music.

But as the hours passed, and fits of giggles turned to yawns, Andrea started to realize it wasn't just their heart rates that were dropping, it was the temperature in the building.

It turned out, their university saved electricity and helped preserve the books themselves, through climate control. There was nothing heated about the library in the middle of the night. In fact, they chilled it. And now her sweet Sharon was shivering.

Andrea unpacked the two throws she’d stuffed in their backpacks, and they found a far corner of the stacks in which to bed down.

Body against body, they waited until morning, sleeping fitfully, but laughing loudly, each time one of them awoke to find the other chattering her teeth.

✢✢✢✢✢

"Mmm, don't go..." Andrea pawed at Sharon's butt as Sharon rolled out of bed and stood up.

"Keep sleeping. I'll be back." Sharon whispered, picking up Andrea's hand and kissing it, before placing it gently back down on the pillow. "I promised I'd call this morning. I'll get it over with and come back to bed my love."

"I'll keep it warm." Andrea mumbled her consent without opening her eyes, snuggling deeper under the covers.

Sharon pulled on sweatpants and a t-shirt and slipped soundlessly out of the room, hoping Andrea had already drifted back to sleep.

Sharon didn't talk to her family much anymore. She used to call her brothers once a week, religiously. Then she'd started calling every two weeks, and for the last semester, it had been more sporadic than that. Last time she talked to the boys was a month ago, but she'd promised to call today: the twins' eleventh birthday. She had to catch them before they left for school at 8:15.

She padded up the stairs to the house phone, which they kept in the upstairs living room.

"Hello?" Marky answered after three rings. In the background, Sharon could hear the television blaring, turned up louder than she'd ever heard it.

"Hey kiddo, it's me!"

"Sharon?" She heard the phone move away from Marky's face as he yelled, "Julian! Julian! It's Sharon!" She cringed, hoping her brother hadn't developed the habit of yelling as a primary mode of communication.

Apparently satisfied that Julian had heard him, Marky came back on the line. His voice was tense. "Sharon? When will you get here?"

He must have been confused. He was only nine, after all. He obviously misunderstood and thought she was coming home to visit for Dennis and William's birthday. "Sorry buddy, I'm not coming to visit. I just wanted to wish the twins a happy..."

Marky cut her off, not listening. "Can you take us to see Dad today? I'm scared. I'm hungry too. William is crying a lot. He's being a cry baby, even though he's older than me."

"Marky? What's going on. What are you talking about? Where dad?"

In the middle of her string of questions, she heard a commotion as the phone was dropped, then Julian's voice came on the line. "Sharon?" Julian's voice sounded terrified. Suddenly, William's cry started, in the background. It wasn't the same cry as when he was a baby or toddler, but even at ten, now eleven years old, it was recognizable to Sharon. Her heart ached whenever she heard any of her brothers' distinct cries. Before she could ask after William, she heard Julian bark orders at Marky. "Go! I said go! Go make sure he's okay!" Julian sounded older than when she'd talked to him three weeks ago.

"Sharon?" he returned the phone to his face, checking to make sure she was still there.

"I'm still here, Julian. Marky said something about Dad. What's going..."

"How's Dad? Is he okay?" At her mention of Dad, Julian interrupted Sharon, not truly listening. Something obviously had him rattled.

Sharon used her super calm, crisis-mode tone. "Buddy, I don't know anything about what's going on with Dad. Why don't you tell me what you know, starting from the beginning, okay?"

"Dad went to the hospital. In an ambulance."

"What happened?"

"I don't know. He started twitching weird. We were watching cartoons with him. His face started moving weird and freezing in weird shapes and he couldn't talk. I started yelling and Mom woke up and saw him on the floor with us and she called the ambulance and they took him away. Is Dad dead?"

Sharon's hand was clasped over her mouth, in shock. But she didn't change her tone of voice. "Okay sweetie, everything's going to be fine. I'm here with you now, okay? Where's Mom?"

"She went in the ambulance with Dad."

"Okay, what time was that?"

"What time? Uh, it was the morning sometime."

"Like, one hour ago, two hours ago?" Sharon tried to prompt his memory.

"What?" Julian sounded confused by Sharon's question. She could picture him furrowing his thick eyebrows as he explained. "It was two days ago. It was Sunday morning. Looney Toons was on. So, it was around 9am I guess.

Sharon bit her lip to prevent herself from vocalizing unintentional exclamations. She kept calm, for Julian's sake. "Jules, what about Mom? Tell me what she said the last time you saw her."

"She said 'get back in the house,' when she was getting in the ambulance. And then she said 'get my purse.' Marky got it for her."

"Okay, honey, but since then. What has she told you?"

"Mom called and told me to lock the doors before going to sleep. And she said we didn't need to go to school. She said to just stay inside and wait for her to come home."

"So Mom hasn't come home at all?"

"No."

"Did she say when she's coming home?"

"I asked her but she said she didn't know and then she hung up because she said she had to go be with Dad."

"Has anyone come by to make you dinner or check on you guys? A neighbor maybe?"

"We don't know our neighbors yet. Mom told me to make cereal for everyone. But we ran out of milk yesterday. I tried making it with water but it's not very good."

"Oh Julian," Sharon realized she'd gotten as many facts out of him as he had to share. She could take a little time to be empathetic. "I'm so sorry buddy. Why didn't you call me?"

"I didn't know your number."

It was hitting Sharon just how young her brothers really were. Julian was the oldest, the leader, but he was a normal kid: 12 going on 13. He wasn't like she had been at his age: 12 going on 25.

"Okay, buddy. Here's what I want you to do. You're going to go check on your brothers, make sure they eat something, even if it's dry cereal. See if you can find some peanut butter. Eat it with a spoon if you don't have any bread. And I want you to make sure everyone shares whatever food there is. I'll be there as soon as I can. I'll call you back and tell you what time to expect me, okay?"

"Okay."

"And turn down the volume on the tv. It's so loud it'll make it hard for you to hear your brothers if they need something."

"Okay. We just wanted to hear it from our bedrooms. We got scared sleeping here alone."

As soon as Sharon hung up with Julian, she called 411 for her hometown. There was only one hospital where her parents were likely to be.

Her heart raced as she inquired whether a patient had been admitted, by the name of O'Dwyer.

✢✢✢✢✢

Sharon let herself back into Andrea's room.

Andrea was still buried under the covers, seemingly asleep, but at the sound of Sharon's return, without opening her eyes, Andrea pulled back the comforter on Sharon's side of the bed.

"Andrea," Sharon whispered.

"Right here," Andrea mumbled, half-asleep, patting Sharon's spot in the bed. When Sharon didn't respond, Andrea opened her eyes, then sat up with a start, immediately sensing something was wrong. Sharon was fully dressed, coat and all, with an overnight bag slung over her shoulder. "Where are you going? What's going on? What's wrong?"

Sharon stayed standing by the door, as if she didn't have time to sit down.

"I just talked to my mom. She's been with my dad at the hospital since day before yesterday. God only knows why she didn't call me." Sharon fumed, frustrated at the circumstance more than her mother, well aware that in the chaos of crisis, basic support structures can be forgotten as people retract into primal survival mode. "Dad had some kind of seizure. But he doesn't have epilepsy or a seizure history. The latest theory is that it was caused by a tumor they just discovered, that's on something called the meninges; it could be affecting his central nervous system. The tumor itself might be benign; apparently, this type often are. What worries me is that the tumor in his colon, ten years ago, that one was cancerous. I asked if this was related but my mom didn't seem to know. She doesn't sound very coherent. She just sounds afraid. Maybe the cancer is back. Maybe it spread. What are you doing?"

While Sharon was talking, Andrea had managed to get dressed, without breaking eye contact. Now, Andrea sat back down to pull on her boots. "I'll ask Eric if we can borrow his car."

"What? Oh, Andrea, you don't need to come. I'm taking the train. I was just saying goodbye so you don't worry."

"Of course I'm going to worry, that's my right. And you are not taking the train alone. I'm certain we can borrow Eric's car."

"Are you sure?"

"Yup. He'll understand, trust me."

"I mean, are you sure about coming with me? You don't have to. It's not your responsibility."

Andrea grabbed Sharon in a hug so forceful, it broke Sharon out of the shell she'd erected over the last half hour. "This is what it is to be partners, Sharon. You're not alone anymore."

✢✢✢✢✢

"Hospital or house?" Andrea asked as they neared the exit to Sharon's hometown.

Sharon felt torn, wanting to comfort and pick up her brothers, but also needing to see her mom and check on her dad. "Hospital," Sharon decided, staring straight ahead in a daze, grateful that Andrea was behind the wheel.

At the hospital, Sharon found her mom pacing the hallway. The scene triggered flashbacks, panicked memories from Sharon's child self. It was the same hospital, the same wing. But where Sharon's mom had managed to stay strong for nine year old Sharon, now that Sharon was twenty, an adult in her own right, it was like her mom felt permission to let go. She collapsed into Sharon's arms, weeping out of fear, Sharon prodding her with questions, in order to collect the facts.

Her dad's cancer was back, or, it had never really left. Either way, it appeared that yes, they'd found malignant tumors on the blood side of the blood-brain barrier. The surgeons were attempting resection, but they cautioned that they may not be able to remove all the cancerous tissue. Any that remained would need to be combated with radiation therapy. Chemotherapy would be ineffective.

Sharon found the on duty charge nurse, who estimated the surgery would last anywhere from an hour to many hours more; it depended how much they tried to remove and how difficult that became. Andrea could see Sharon was torn between wanting to go take care of her brothers and not wanting to leave her mother's side. So Andrea volunteered to go check on the boys.

Andrea hadn't spent much time around kids, so she was nervous as she approached the O'Dwyer house. But as she sat the boys down to have an honest talk, and as she cooked them dinner and made sure they showered and put on clean clothes, it all felt oddly natural, probably because it made Andrea feel even more apart of Sharon's life.

Julian seemed to appreciate Andrea's straightforwardness. William and Dennis seemed comforted by her solidness. And Marky kept hugging her, as if she was a stand in for Sharon, instinctively sensing that Andrea was the closest person in the world to his big sister.

The next day, Sharon's dad was out of surgery and in recovery. His radiation therapy was scheduled to start immediately.

Sharon and Andrea sat in the hospital commissary, making plans.

"Eric needs his car back, and you can't miss midterms on my account. Also, you can do me the favor of asking my Professors if I can makeup my tests next week." Sharon hoped her last request had worked its magic. Simply telling Andrea to go take care of herself and her classes, wasn't going to work. Asking Andrea to do her a 'favor' was the only way her partner might be willing to leave her side.

Andrea nodded, resigned to the unpleasant idea of leaving Sharon behind.

✢✢✢✢✢

Andrea heard a knock on her bedroom door. She put down her pen and closed her journal, wondering which of her housemates had come to call. Maybe Hannah had finished her last midterm and wanted to celebrate this evening.

"Come in."

The door opened to reveal Sharon, her black coat flecked with fresh snow.

"Sharon!" It had only been a week, but it was the longest they'd been apart since they'd started dating. Andrea leapt up and grabbed Sharon in a fierce hug. Sharon gripped Andrea in turn, but there was something reserved about the embrace.

"Why didn't you tell me you were coming? I would have met you at the train."

"I took the bus," Sharon clarified in a detached tone.

Andrea tilted her head at Sharon, quizzically. “I would have met you at the bus stop too."

When they'd first met, Sharon had always taken the Greyhound, insisting it was the most economical way to travel. Andrea had shown her that the train was fifty percent faster, a hell of a lot more comfortable, and not that much more expensive. They'd shared many a happy train trip; Sharon was a self-proclaimed convert. Now, it was like she'd reverted to her old religion. But that’s not what worried Andrea.

What worried Andrea was that normally, after being separated for mere hours, Sharon bubbled with stories, wanting to catch up Andrea on every detail of their time apart. Now, Sharon was unforthcoming, her face an emotionless mask.

"Sharon, how are you? Let me take your coat. Sit down." Andrea reached out, literally and metaphorically.

But Sharon didn't move to unbutton her coat. She shook her head, as if asking Andrea to step back. "I'm just here for the night, to pick up my things. I'm heading back home, on the morning bus."

Sharon's home was supposed to be this room, or whatever space they shared. But Sharon just referred to her parents' house as home. Andrea shivered, not from the outside air that had entered the house, but from an internal chill that started at the base of her spine and was working its way up her back, icy tendrils running parallel to her ribs, trapping her in a death grip.

"For how long?" Andrea gulped.

Forever, Sharon thought to herself. Instead, she said aloud. "I'm leaving school. I'm moving back home. My family needs me..."

"What?" Andrea's jaw dropped, interrupting Sharon's sudden stream of information.

"...We lost our first house when I was a kid. Everything we've worked for since then... It's in jeopardy again. I'm not going to let my brothers lose this house. Not this time. There's a mortgage to pay and..."

“And it’s not your job to pay the mortgage,” Andrea interrupted, furrowing her eyebrows.

“Then who’s job is it?” Sharon snapped, apparently not in the mood for debate.

“Sorry,” Andrea stepped forward, trying to bridge the distance. “I didn’t mean to sound unsympathetic. I feel for your family. I do. I just know you and…” Andrea lifted her shoulders slightly, trying to de-emphasize what she was about to say. “...you tend to take responsibility for things that may or may not be your responsibility.”

“What are you saying?” Sharon narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms. Andrea took the hint and stopped stepping closer.

“I’m just saying that you get a certain satisfaction from taking care of other people. You’ve told me that yourself. And it’s a beautiful, generous, wonderful thing. But it’s possible for you to take on so much responsibility that it becomes unhealthy. You can lose yourself in your devotion to others. You already gave up your childhood and teenage years for your family…”

“And I’d do it again,” Sharon cut in, shaking her head, incredulous. “I have no regrets. That was the right thing to do and I did it. And now, the right thing to do is leave here on the morning bus and pitch in again, just like I did before.”

"Sharon, Sharon," Andrea shook her head back and forth, her arms extended, palms down, as if trying to tame a wild beast. But the beast wasn't Sharon. It was the one raging inside her own soul. "You can't, you can't just leave school."

"Yes, yes I can, Andrea." Sharon clipped. "And I am." Sharon set her jaw determinedly in the way that Andrea had always adored, but now dreaded.

Andrea tried to make her point, one last time, knowing she might get bitten in the process. “Ignore everything I’ve said. But I beg of you, just talk to someone before you make this decision.”

“Talk to someone? You mean, like a shrink?” The hair on the back of Sharon’s neck stood up. She immediately started to feel the effects of the sleep deprivation over the last few days: she was feeling testy and tired. She had no patience left. She'd spent all her patience on waiting for lab results and waiting on her brothers.

“Well, maybe not a psychiatrist. But yes, a therapist. Someone who can give you perspective.”

“I already have perspective,” Sharon pressed her lips together. “I have perspective on the fact that you think I’m crazy. Have you always thought this or is this a new revelation now that I’ve made a decision without you?”

“Sharon, no.” Andrea pleaded with her eyes, imploring Sharon to come back to her, to put down her sword and shield, for a moment. “I’ve never thought you were crazy. I don’t think you’re crazy now. I just know that talking to someone grounded, who has your best interests at heart, who can reflect things back to you - things you might already know but maybe don’t feel sure of - that is a valuable experience. And that way, you know you’re making a clear headed decision. Not just doing something reflexively because you think you have no choice. That’s all I’m saying. When my parents...” Andrea took a deep breath and looked down, giving herself a moment before continuing. Sharon dampened the fire inside her, instinctively responding to Andrea’s vulnerability. “...Afterwards, I saw a therapist. I went twice a week from eleven to fourteen. Then I dropped down to once a week. If I still lived in Montreal I’d probably see Jean once a month, just to check in.” Andrea looked up again, making eye contact with a now softened Sharon. “Do you think I’m crazy?”

“No, of course not,” Sharon shook her head, wanting nothing more than to hug and comfort her love.

“And I don’t think you are either. I just care about you deeply, Sharon. I want you to do what’s best for you, whatever that is. Honestly, that’s all I want for you. I hope you know that...” Andrea wanted to walk the rest of the way towards Sharon, to pull her close. But Sharon had been unusually defensive and this was the closest thing to a fight they’d ever had. Andrea intended to give Sharon whatever time and space Sharon needed. Andrea hoped her words alone could convey the message. “I want you to have the best life possible, to be as happy as possible, regardless of what that means for me. I would never try to control or manipulate you.”

“I do know that,” Sharon acknowledged with a sigh. “I know exactly what you mean because I feel the same way about you. I want the best for you, independent of what that means for me.” Privately, Sharon thought, and that’s why I’m going to save you from my fate. “So right now, please hear me. I know what’s best for me because it’s what’s best for my family. I need to head back home, be there for my parents and brothers, and start making money, now.” The steeliness in Sharon's eyes meant her mind was made up. This was a no negotiation situation.

Andrea’s shoulders slumped, no longer fighting Sharon’s decision. At this point, she just wanted to understand. "But everything you've worked for... law..."

"I found out I can transfer my credits to the community college. The classes I've taken count towards a criminology degree. I can get my AA after taking in a single class. Then, I'll take night classes at the Police Academy..."

"The Police Academy?" Andrea repeated, not comprehending.

"I met with the hiring manager at my local precinct. I can be a cop before this time next year. It's good stable work, and in the meantime, I got my old job back, at the restaurant."

Andrea felt her knees go weak. Sharon had already planned so much, without her. Andrea sat down on the bed and looked up at Sharon, deathly afraid of the answer to the next question. "What about..." Her voice faltered. "Us?"

For the first time since Sharon arrived, her determined features wavered. Her chin twitched, revealing micro-expressions of remorse. She blinked rapidly, perhaps keeping tears at bay. Sharon sat down next to Andrea, her thigh against Andrea's thigh, snow from her coat seeping through Andrea's sweatpants and chilling Andrea's leg.

"I love you," Sharon's voice cracked. The dam burst, tears instantly cascading down her composed cheeks. Andrea also started crying, empathetically and for her own trembling heart. Sharon shook her head and sniffled, clearing her nose to continue talking. "This has been a dream. I mean that in the best way possible. But it's over for me. My life, my reality, is that family. My family. I need to get back there and focus on them, focus on work, focus on my brothers. My dad isn't out of the woods yet. And he'll have a lot of healing to do. Someone has to provide for this family. And that takes single-minded focus..."

"I'll come with you. I'll transfer credits. I'll find whatever college is closest that offers a four-year degree."

"You're not getting into a good law school with a BA from Podunk College," Sharon countered.

"Okay, we'll make it work long distance. I'll visit whenever I can."

Sharon shook her head somberly, conclusively, as if the die had already been cast.

Andrea understood what was being said, but she couldn’t believe it.

"No, Sharon. No. You can't be serious. We aren't breaking up. You and me? We aren't... we can't...it doesn't make sense..."

"I need to focus on my family, my work. You need to focus on everything we've always talked about. Graduating, taking that year to travel, going to the best law school possible..."

"Everything we've always talked about involved you, Sharon. Those weren't my plans. Those were our plans. All of that was supposed to be you and me."

Sharon's chest rose and fell, heavily. "But I'm not in the picture anymore."

It was as if Sharon's declaration was coming true, before Andrea's eyes. Sharon became hazier and seemed to melt into the color of the wall. In truth, it was the tears causing Andrea's vision to blur, but Andrea stared, horror struck, at the eerie visual effect. The smudge of a person leaned in and Andrea smelled her so clearly, so strongly. She felt Sharon's lips on her forehead, the lips were recognizable, the kiss was distinctive. Andrea turned her face upwards and caught the lips with her own.

Sharon's lips tasted like tears.

Their mouths opened and they kissed fervently, with love but also fear, fear that was so tangible you could taste it; fear of the unknown, fear of losing each other. They also kissed with anger, not anger at one another but at life, at how it had teased them, tempted them with visions of eternal happiness; now, it taunted their souls as it ravaged their hopes, burning through their paper city, each scribbled dream becoming cinders in seconds. Through their clothes they gripped one another fiercely; one last attempt to make this reality, their reality, into the real one, the persistent one. Let everything else be a dream state with ghost people; let the rest of the world fade into haziness, let this scene come into sharp crystalline focus. All either of them had ever wanted, truly desired, in their whole lives, was what they had right here: a universe with one another and nothing else.

After half an hour of madly kissing, sometimes biting, insistently sucking at one another's tears, they found themselves, chests heaving, foreheads pressed together, both leaning on and holding up one another, pressing the other person's cheeks between sweaty palms. They'd been able to lose themselves, momentarily, in a dust storm of their own making, but reality descended again and settled, like the freshly fallen snow now covering their backyard.

They sat like that for minutes, nose to nose, not breaking eye contact, letting their breaths slow, and synchronize.

"I'll help you pack." Andrea said, softly.

Sharon nodded.

✢✢✢✢✢

They stayed up all night, packing Sharon's things. They essentially shared two rooms: Andrea's was where they slept, Sharon's was where they studied. They had memories in both. So they combed through Andrea's room for Sharon's possessions. Then, as they packed up Sharon’s room they set aside Andrea’s things. There were more than a few clothes and books that were truly shared. Inevitably, they each made a case for why the other person should keep the item. Sometimes, Sharon would give in and accept it; other times, Andrea would.

Possessions packed, they cleaned Sharon's room, so it would be suitable for a new tenant in the spring.

They finished at 4am.

With three hours until Sharon's bus departure, they walked back to Andrea's room and lay quietly in each other's arms. They spooned one another, silent except for their breathing, their souls unwilling to slip into slumber when this was the end of an epoch.

As the sun started to rise, they could see out the window to the backyard. The new day revealed a coat of freshly fallen snow, crisp and pure and new: a foreign white world where everything looked different, but familiar shapes teased, hinting at yesterday's memories.

Andrea noticed two distinctive shapes leaning against the big tree, sticking up like unruly weeds, unwilling to melt into the eerily smooth landscape.

✢✢✢✢✢

 


	5. Sleepers and Ballast

Winter turned to spring. Spring turned to summer. The seasons changed but the state of Sharon's soul, didn't.

She was miserable inside.

Instead of waking every day with a contented smile and the boundless hope of what was to come, she was like a walking corpse, going through the motions, believing she was doing the right thing, but feeling guilty for not being happy as she did so.

That summer, Jack came home from college and told her he'd heard Andrea was spending the summer assisting a clerk in the Quebec government. He asked, gently, why Andrea didn't visit and why she and Sharon didn't talk on the phone. Sharon shook her head, explaining that they'd tried talking a few times in the first couple of months, but Sharon felt like it distracted her, it was too much of a juxtaposition, it pulled her mind and heart away from her family and made her dissatisfied with her current situation. In short, it was too hard to hang up and it hurt too much the following days. So, she and Andrea had agreed to cease contact. She thanked Jack for his concern and asked him to stop sharing news about Andrea.

✢✢✢✢✢

By the end of summer, Sharon had completed the classroom portion of her Police Academy training and had started as a member of the force. She looked forward to the field experience she would get on her twelve month probationary period. After that, assuming she passed, she would graduate from the Academy and be assigned her own geographic patrol.

Her life adopted a predictable rhythm. She and her mom worked at opposite times of the day, so that an adult was always available to wait on her dad and take him to doctor's appointments. Sharon supported her brothers' educations as much as possible, helping with homework or attending events that one’s parents usually attended. When she showed up in uniform, her brothers brimmed with excitement, proudly introducing their big sister. Those were her happiest moments. It made her feel, fleetingly, as if her life wasn't a disjointed collection of circumstances: her life made sense, the pieces fit. After all, she had always wanted to help people. In this career, she was doing just that. Maybe law had been a temporary flight of fancy. Being a police officer was tangible work that matched her dedication to service and her attention to rules and procedures. And, instead of going into law school debt, she was putting food on the table, now.

One evening, after a few months of wearing the uniform, she answered a call at the high school. During a PTA meeting, a couple of figures were spotted graffitiing the dumpster behind the cafeteria. By the time Sharon arrived, they'd run off. As she took statements from the witnesses, Principal Weaver approached, interrupting.

"Sharon? Sharon O'Dwyer?"

"Principal Weaver," Sharon nodded, formally.

"I didn't know you were back in town," he reached out to shake her hand, as he struggled to control the surprise on his face.

They spent a minute catching up, Sharon well aware that he was hiding his disappointment. She'd been a star student who'd earned a great scholarship. He'd even written a recommendation letter himself. He didn't need to say it for Sharon to know what he was thinking: she was the last person he'd expected to see working as a cop in her hometown; he, and all her teachers, had thought she'd use her intellect and drive to earn an advanced degree, move to a big city, and build a white collar career. Sharon was ashamed, even as she stood erect and professional in her crisp, blue uniform. At the same time, she felt guilty for being ashamed: she should be proud of her service, and she certainly had nothing but the utmost respect for other officers and those who’d devoted their lives to the force.

It was encounters like this that momentarily shattered her masquerade of satisfaction. She took out her frustration by throwing herself even deeper into her work. She studied the structure of the force, promotion patterns, and management positions. She was determined to find a way to live up to the expectations of her high school teachers, while still being of service to the public, and her own family. She was convinced there was a way to do it all.

The following summer, which was the same time she would have graduated from college, she passed her probationary period, graduated from the Police Academy, and became a Patrol Officer.

✢✢✢✢✢

The moment Sharon was assigned her beat as a Patrol Officer, unsurprisingly, she became intensely protective of it.

Her first month, she responded to the occasional noise or suspicious persons complaint, but mostly, she attended Neighborhood Watch meetings, visited local service stations and shops to build rapport, and reported to her Field Training Officer. She even drove through the area when she was off-duty, just to memorize every street and storefront she could. Like everything else she’d ever done, she took her job seriously and committed herself fully. With each passing day, as she listened to her radio, visually scanned her surroundings, and developed relationships with locals, she truly felt that the people who lived and worked in her beat, were her responsibility.

One evening, her sixth week on patrol, she answered a call that came through from dispatch. Three separate neighbors had called 911 to lodge a noise complaint. Usually, noise complaints were about loud music or barking dogs. But this time, it was a complaint about loud yelling, coming from the residence of a Marlene Ette.

Sharon had already learned the quickest route to the apartment complex, thanks to her personal project to map the neighborhood. She was at the scene in three and a half minutes. For a normal noise complaint, after parking, she would have moved briskly but not in a hurry. However, as she reached the bottom of the outdoor staircase that led to Marlene Ette’s second floor apartment, she could hear the yelling herself. And what she heard, sent her highly developed protective instinct, into red alert.

She took the stairs two at a time, reaching for the weapon she’d only ever fired at the range. She’d been a good shot in training; apparently, she was able to harness her laser-like focus for precision shooting as well. Now, as she neared the apartment door, the yelling of a male voice and the crashing of objects being smashed, grew louder, and for the first time, Officer O’Dwyer drew her weapon.

She banged on the door forcefully and called, “Police!” The soundscape didn’t change. She banged again, hollering, “Police! Open the door!” The indistinguishable yelling from inside the apartment didn’t stop. But now, she heard a woman’s voice too: it rose up as a scream of pure terror.

Sharon pointed her weapon at the door lock, careful to aim towards the door frame and the external wall of the building, not towards the interior of the apartment where someone might be standing. Right before she pulled the trigger, something occurred to her and she reached for the door handle. It opened, easily. It wasn’t locked.

As she pushed open the door with her foot, she held her gun in front of her, senses more peaked than they’d ever been. She kept announcing her presence as she walked into the open kitchen and living room. “Police! Officer O’Dwyer! We’ve gotten noise complaints. We’re here to check on the situation.” She used the term “we” as if she represented the entire force. And in that moment, she did. She channeled everything she’d learned, everything she’d come to believe, everything she’d seen in the eyes of her superior officers and mentors.

She stepped carefully over broken dishes and picture frames, which appeared to have been hurled with the intention to injure. She found the hallway and moved quickly down it, continuing to announce her presence. The yelling and cursing was now discernible in between the human growls which were designed to intimidate. The sobbing snarls revealed a hurtness, beneath the venom. “...bitch...drove him away...made him hate me...it’s your fault...I hate you...you can join him…”

The woman’s screams turned to pleading, just as Sharon reached the open doorway to the bathroom. A young man stood over a middleaged woman, who cowered in the bathtub. The curtain rod had fallen to the floor, the shower curtain creating a white carpet upon which the woman’s fresh blood was highlighted. A wound on the side of her head was a height match for the blood on the tile wall. Her nose looked broken; blood poured from it.

The young man looked over his shoulder, making eye contact with Sharon, apparently noticing her for the first time. His reaction was uncanny. He didn’t flinch with fear or even anger. It was as if Sharon’s presence simply flipped a switch in his head. His dispassionate expression said: this is the end of the road; it’s now or never. He reached into his waistband and pulled out a firearm, aimed it at the woman’s head, cocked it, and pulled the trigger.

Or almost pulled the trigger.

He crumpled to the floor, clutching his right shoulder where Sharon had shot him. Sharon collected his dropped gun and put it in her waistband. The woman’s screaming didn’t stop, in fact, it morphed and intensified. It was like the horror of what had just transpired was dawning on her anew, and it was even more terrible in her memory than when she’d lived through it moments ago.

Sharon kept her gun aimed at the young man. He was groaning and wincing with searing pain as he rolled back and forth on the floor, over the fallen shower curtain. “Sir, I am Officer O’Dwyer. Please do not attempt to get up.” Sharon pressed the talk button on her radio and called in the incident to dispatch. As she delivered the report, the woman’s voice evolved yet again, threatening to drown out Sharon’s attempted communications.

“My son! My son!” The woman started to cry, apparently caught between wanting to reach for the young man and wanting to run from him.

Sharon’s Field Training Officer appeared in seven minutes, along with three other officers and an ambulance with two EMTs. The young man, whose name was Michael, was simultaneously arrested and given medical treatment.

Sharon gave her own statement to her fellow officers and was asked to hand over her gun. She blinked back, momentarily confused. Then, just as quickly, she remembered that since she’d fired her weapon and shot someone, she’d become the subject of an internal investigation, before she’d be allowed to continue serving. She nodded, handing over her gun as well as the suspect’s weapon.

✢✢✢✢✢

It was only fifteen minutes.

From the time she’d gotten the call from dispatch to the time the other officers arrived on the scene, it was only fifteen minutes.

Three minutes to drive to the complex. Two minutes to park and run up the stairs. One minute outside the door. Another minute entering and surveying the front room. One minute down the hall, making eye contact with Michael, and firing her gun. Seven minutes for backup to arrive.

Less time than it took her to cook spaghetti.

In the days that followed, Sharon relived the details of those fifteen minutes over and over again.

She’d heard the diagnosis. Twenty-one year old Michael Sylla had had a psychotic break. He claimed that what happened, didn’t happen. He said that he had dreamt something similar, but in his dream, he’d shot his mom in the head.

He’d been raised by his mom, Marlene Ette, and a step-dad whom he hated. He’d moved out at eighteen and started searching for his birth father. He’d found him, in a cemetery, six months ago. Apparently, his father had killed himself two years prior. His father had never had a psychological diagnosis, but acquaintances and colleagues reported that something wasn’t right with the man. His symptoms seemed like those of an untreated manic-depressive. Perhaps there was a genetic connection between what his father had and what had snapped in Michael.

Michael had come home to stay with his mom until he got his own place. Marlene reported that he’d always been moody and unpredictable, ever since he was a kid. But what happened that day was a side of him she’d never seen. It was like he’d been possessed. Since Sharon had been pulled off patrol until she was cleared for duty, she found herself obsessively researching anything related to the case, including the fact that psychotic breaks most often happen before the frontal cortex is fully developed. At twenty-one, Michael was at the prime age. He was only two months older than Sharon.

As the depositions and pretrial hearings commenced, Sharon was told she’d be given back her weapon and be able to return to patrol, after undergoing a mandatory evaluation by a psychologist.

✢✢✢✢✢

On the prescribed day, Sharon arrived at her appointment with Dr. Annie Gunnerson. The woman was in her fifties and had been evaluating members of the force for most of her career. Sharon had never talked to a psychologist and had no idea what to expect. All she knew was that this woman held the keys to her continued career. Sharon needed Dr. Gunnerson to pronounce her fit to serve so that she could get back to work, as soon as tomorrow.

Sharon had always been great at passing tests. But for the first time, she hadn’t known what to study or how to prepare. So she sat stiffly in her chair, waiting to be told what to do or what to say. Dr. Gunnerson took her seat across from Sharon, and smiled.

Dr. Gunnerson asked Sharon to call her Annie. Then, Annie asked Sharon what she would like to be called: Officer O’Dwyer or Sharon.

“Either way is fine with me,” Sharon replied, not caring since it would only be relevant for the next sixty minutes of her life. But as soon as the words left Sharon’s mouth, she started to wonder if her answer would impact the evaluation. Maybe that’s how psychologists worked: they read into everything you said and did, and assigned meaning to it. Sharon had no idea what meaning could be assigned based on her name choice, but she decided to play it safe, betting that since Dr. Gunnerson had offered her own first name, first names must be psychologically preferred. “Actually, you can call me Sharon.”

Annie went on to ask Sharon general questions about Sharon’s childhood, her family, her work, her hobbies, her romantic relationships, and her home life. In short, Sharon’s answers were “good,” “good,” “good,” “no time,” “no time,” and “good.” Annie asked follow-up questions and Sharon obliged, only because she imagined some level of detail was required in order to pass. Sharon glanced up at the clock, more than once, wondering how deep into the hour they would get before Annie finally asked about the incident itself.

With only five minutes to go, Sharon couldn’t resist the urge to organize the conversation and make sure they discussed what was needed in order for her to pass. Perhaps Dr. Gunnerson wasn’t keeping track of the time. “Don’t you want to hear about the incident?”

“There are lots of things I look forward to hearing about. But you’ve shared a lot for one day. I appreciate the opportunity to start to get to know you a little bit. Thank you.” Annie looked at the clock and continued. “In fact, we’re about at time for today.” Annie stood up and so did Sharon. Sharon’s heart quickened, assuming Annie’s positive demeanor meant that Sharon had been cleared for duty. Sharon wanted to be handed a rubric with a test score on it, but the rules of this whole experience continued to elude her.

“So, what happens now?” Sharon asked, “Do you need to sign something for me?”

Annie reached out and handed Sharon a business card with an appointment time written on the back. “I’ll see you every Tuesday, from three to four. I look forward to seeing you next week.”

“I’m sorry?” Sharon cocked her head, honestly confused. “Did I…Did I say something wrong? Am I not cleared?”

“You didn’t say anything wrong. Not at all. You can resume patrol tomorrow. You and I will continue to meet, even while you go back to work.”

“So I’m cleared for duty,” Sharon repeated, relieved, but still befuddled. “In that case,” Sharon inquired politely, “I’m not clear on why we would continue to meet.”

“Well, Sharon, it’s normal for people to see a therapist after experiencing trauma.”

“I’m sorry,” Sharon released a small ironic chuckle, “I’m not the one who needs therapy. It’s Michael Sylla who needs it. He’s mentally ill. He’s diagnosable.”

“You know, Sharon,” Annie motioned to the chair Sharon had vacated. Sharon sat down again, obediently. “People come to therapy for a variety of reasons. It’s not just for people with mental illnesses. Many mentally healthy people see a therapist just for personal development, to have more joy and ease in their lives. And some people find therapy helpful for certain periods of time, after living through a traumatic event or in order to work through a particular emotional injury.”

Sharon decided to accept the premise of Annie’s argument, and jump straight to what concerned Sharon. “How long do I need to attend appointments?”

“I’m not sure. It depends. We’ll decide together, as we go along.”

Sharon remained respectful, asking gingerly, “And, out of curiosity, what if I decide that I don’t need any more appointments, beyond the one today?”

“Well Sharon, I am recommending to your superior officer that you begin attending weekly sessions, starting next Tuesday and until we decide otherwise. And I’m asking you, personally, to give the process a chance. Just a small chance. Come back next week, and let’s chat again.”

Sharon kept her thoughts to herself, because she was at the mercy of Dr. Gunnerson. As friendly a frame as “Annie” was trying to create, the message was actually that these therapy sessions were mandatory, until Annie and the PhD hanging on her wall said otherwise. So, Sharon nodded, smiled, and said, extending her hand, “I’ll see you next week.”

As Sharon stood up again and walked out of Dr. Gunnerson’s office, she vowed to play whatever game was needed in order to end these waste of time appointments, as soon as possible.

✢✢✢✢✢

In the days and weeks and months that followed, the slow wheels of the justice system started to turn and Sharon was forced to relive the details of those fifteen minutes, over and over and over again, in depositions, pretrial hearings, and in court itself.

She wasn’t only a witness to the attempted murder of Marlene Ette, she was the officer responsible for preventing the accused from following through. She’d shot Michael in his right shoulder, intentionally, knowing it would stop him from successfully firing, but that the wound would be repairable, not fatal.

Despite the fact that her supervisor and fellow officers personally commended her for acting quickly and correctly in a tricky situation, being under the lens of the justice system made her revisit every in-the-moment decision she’d made. Could she have stopped Michael in a safer, less physically damaging way that didn’t involve her shooting him? Should she have entered the apartment sooner and prevented Marlene from receiving a concussion and broken nose? Sharon was most disturbed as she wondered whether she had read the situation accurately. Was Michael actually about to the pull the trigger or was he bluffing? In other words, was it even necessary for her to have shot him?

The choices she had made seemed inevitable at the time. But the images seared in her brain kept begging her to come up with alternatives. She saw Michael, writhing on the floor, his shoulder shattered and losing blood by the minute. She saw Marlene in the tub, first afraid for her own life, then afraid for her son’s life.

Sharon woke up from nondescript nightmares, unable to recall any dreamstate details. All she knew was that she woke up afraid, heart beating, and with an ominous feeling that she was going to do the wrong thing and either kill someone or fail to stop someone from being killed. After a week, for some reason, the fear evolved and became incredibly specific.

When she’d wake up, sweating, she’d get up from the couch where she slept and make sure the front door was locked and the stove was off, and then she’d tiptoe down the hall and press her ear to her parents’ bedroom door and to her brothers’ bedroom doors. This night terror she'd developed was that she was going to do something wrong that would lead to the death of one of her family members.

That fear, rational or not, started invading her waking life, too.

✢✢✢✢✢

After weeks of therapy sessions where Sharon kept her soul closely guarded, she started to trust that what she whatever she said to Annie was honored as private. Slowly, Sharon realized that their sessions weren’t a series of pop-quizzes where she needed to scramble to find the right answers. Their conversations were opportunities for Sharon to say anything, feel anything, and have it be okay.

So, Sharon decided to share about the faceless, plotless nightmares and the irrational fears that accompanied.

Annie, as always, was patient and non-pushy. After a few sessions of talking about the fear, then thinking about it in between sessions, Sharon shared a revelation. She told Annie that this fear didn’t feel as new as she’d first thought. She recognized that she’d always had this fear, in one form or another, since she was nine years old. She believed, back then, that if she did the “right” thing and followed certain rules for living that she made up in her head, then her dad would survive.

And, since her dad did survive, at some place within her, she believed she had made that happen, by doing the right things and by being “good.” Sharon choked up in front of Annie, for the first time. “I’ve always lived that way, I think. With some need to protect other people. Because I imagine that if I don’t, they’ll die. And that mission, that all important job to keep my family alive, that has ruled me, my whole life.”

Annie echoed what Sharon herself was realizing. “At some level, it sounds like you know this, but I’ll just say it aloud: you’re not responsible for your dad’s life. You're not responsible for your mom’s life. You’re not responsible for the lives of your brothers. Your dad’s cancer was beyond your control when you were nine. It was beyond your control two years ago when it came back. And it’s beyond your control now. You can be emotionally supportive to yourself. And you can be emotionally supportive to your family members, within reason. But you can’t actually control life and death.”

Sharon started crying, soundlessly; it was like someone was telling her things she'd never been allowed to think, much less feel. The only person who'd ever told her something similar, was Andrea.

Annie didn't stop Sharon from crying. After a minute, Annie continued speaking, gently. "It's okay to feel. It's more than okay to feel. You've been carrying a lot, for a long time. From birth, almost. And now, you're in a profession and a personal position in life, where you're still caring for others. It makes sense that you feel the pressure. And that makes it hard for you to cut yourself slack or give yourself anything.”

"Andrea…" Sharon heard herself whimper, before she could stop herself.

"Who's Andrea?"

Hearing Andrea's name on her therapist's lips made Sharon fall into a deeper sob.

Andrea and feelings about Andrea were something Sharon had intentionally buried. She could almost make herself believe that their time together had never existed. But now, unbidden, visions of Andrea were flowing forth. And the other person in the room was making Andrea more real, just by mentioning her.

"She was right. She knew all this about me. She knew that being responsible for other people gives me purpose. And I knew that too, at some level. But I didn’t care. That didn’t seem like a problem. Is it a problem?” Sharon suddenly broke through her own bubble, instantly self-conscious, looking up at her therapist with the eyes of her child self, wanting to be comforted and be told that she’d done everything right, but also wanting to learn, to discover, if there was another right way to be.

“You haven’t done anything wrong, if that’s what you’re asking.” Annie smiled gently, aware of Sharon’s desire to follow a set of unspoken rules. “We’re put in situations, as children, where we don’t actually have a choice in terms of how we feel and how we react. Our survival is objectively dependent on the adults who raise us, so if they’re in jeopardy, we’re in jeopardy too. It’s never fair when a child, like you, feels she has to carry a literal or emotional burden, for her family. But you don’t need to feel bad about anything you felt, or did. It’s a wonderful trait to be generous and giving, and to care deeply about other people. But now, as an adult, you have the ability to evaluate your life and those around you, and determine what you _want_ to give and what you _can_ give. You also get to learn how to give to yourself, because you deserve that. You deserve life and happiness, just as much as anyone else.”

Sharon let the intense, often conflicting, feelings flow through her. She existed, for the remainder of that session, in a nonverbal state of emotion. No words came to mind except for one: Andrea.

✢✢✢✢✢

All week, Sharon floated through work and errands and caring for her family. On the inside, she conjured a cloud of memories, each one sweeter than the last.

It was suddenly clear to Sharon that Andrea hadn't said anything out of line their last night together. All Andrea had been trying to do was support Sharon. Andrea didn’t demand that Sharon give her anything; she just wanted Sharon to be happy and for Sharon to make a decision that was healthy.

Andrea was the only person, outside of a few teachers and now her therapist, who had ever really encouraged Sharon to make herself the focus of her own desire to give. Sharon had always done so much for her family in fundamental, tangible ways, that as much as they loved her, they didn’t truly know her. She’d become, intentionally or not, a commodity to the O’Dwyer household.

The next therapy session, Sharon started talking a mile a minute, unloading every meaningful detail about Andrea and how Andrea had been with Sharon and how Sharon had felt in turn.

"Sharon, I don't know if you can tell, but when you talk about Andrea, even when you describe something simple and factual, you smile. In three months of working with you, it's the first time I've seen happiness on your face."

"Being with Andrea was the only time in my life I've ever truly been happy. And I was so happy. Unbelievably happy."

"I believe it. You're exuding it right now.”

“So what does that mean? What do I do?”

“Well, I have a couple of questions. First, just so I understand, you haven’t mentioned where she is now. Have you stayed in touch?”

Sharon explained that no, they hadn’t spoken in two years, and she imagined Andrea was either starting her second year of law school or her first, depending on whether she’d taken a year off or not.

“Okay, second question,” Annie continued. “What was it about you during those years that enabled you to let yourself have some joy? Is it possible to evoke that state of mind even now, in small ways, in your current life?”

✢✢✢✢✢

From the time Sharon started teasing apart her need to be responsible for other people, she started to feel less and less compelled by that need.

It was like by talking about it, it demystified its power and called it out into the open where it could be seen and evaluated.

Sharon performed the same actions: working her beat, paying the mortgage while her mom paid the utilities and groceries, attending school events for her brothers, taking her dad to his hospital appointments and talking over treatments with doctors. But, she felt lighter as she did it all.

She even started to find moments for herself: a few hours here and there, where she’d read or paint or just take some time to close her eyes and breathe.

After twenty-two sessions, Dr. Gunnerson informed Sharon that they’d reached the max number of sessions that insurance would provide, given Sharon’s steady mental health.

“Therefore,” Annie said warmly, “our time together has come to an end. But whether it’s with another therapist or with someone you truly trust, I do hope you continue giving yourself the opportunity to let yourself feel. This kind of personal work is actually a form of giving to yourself. And, since I know the practical is important to you, I’ll say this: the more in touch you are with yourself, the better able you'll be to do your job."

Sharon smiled, appreciative that Dr. Gunnerson understood how Sharon’s heart and mind both operated.

✢✢✢✢✢

Sharon’s third year as an officer, Julian became old enough to get a job. He started as a part time shelf stocker at a grocery store. Sharon wouldn't let him work more than fifteen hours a week. She wanted him to stay focused on school and extracurriculars.

At the end of Sharon’s fourth year on the force, she was promoted to Field Training Officer. She supervised police officers who were about to graduate, or had just graduated, from the Academy. She enjoyed the responsibility of helping officers transition from the classroom portion of their education into the real world. She loved thinking about duty and conduct, and what it means to come into contact with the members of the public you are charged with protecting. She passed on all of her philosophies to the police officers she supervised.

Whereas some of her colleagues found it a drag to provide guidance to newbies, Sharon relished the opportunity to support and coach others. Also, most of her colleagues hated the extra administrative paperwork and the writing of reports, but Sharon loved that aspect of her job. Her penchants didn’t go unnoticed by her superiors. She was told that between her job performance and her AA in criminology, she was on track to become a Sergeant.

When Julian graduated high school, he elected not to go to a four-year college. Sharon was disappointed, but tried not to show it. She knew she couldn't live her unfulfilled dreams through him. He started at the vocational school in town while he continued to live at home. He wanted to become an electrician; he had a mind for how things worked. Sharon knew that competent electricians could make good money and even own their own business. Most importantly, Julian seemed happy on his path, so she was happy for him.

That same year, her dad was pronounced cancer-free and started work again. Instead of going back to sales, he took a job at a meat distribution plant. It kept him off his feet for more hours of the day and since it wasn’t commission-based, he didn’t push himself as hard. He seemed satisfied with this new chapter of his career. Meanwhile, more and more, Sharon felt like she was finding her home, in the force.

When William and Dennis were high school juniors, they started talking about joining the army after graduation. Sharon introduced them to an ROTC recruiter who explained the benefits of getting a four-year degree and joining the army with the possibility of becoming an officer. After graduating, they both enrolled at the state university on ROTC scholarships.

Her sixth year as an officer, she was promoted to Sergeant. As Sergeant, she became the Field Supervisor for a squad of police officers. She disseminated instructions and assignments, oversaw the performance of their duties, and performed follow-up investigations for less straightforward crimes. In business parlance, she was basically the manager of a department. And she loved it. She loved having a team.

Marky was her only bird still left in the nest. He was seventeen, which was young for his graduating class. He had grown up sweet and sensitive, but stubborn, like her. She tried to talk him into college, but he'd made up his mind to join the Police Academy, saying he wanted to be a police officer, like his sister.

With both of Sharon's parents working full time, and with the boys out of the house or almost out, Sharon imagined how her family would do without her presence. And she knew they would do just fine.

That didn’t hurt her ego; it set her free.

At twenty-eight, Sharon started to think about what she wanted, for herself.

✢✢✢✢✢

Sharon called a Montreal directory and asked for the phone number of Marie Carpentier. There were five. Sharon asked for each street address in turn and stopped the operator when she heard the one she recognized.

“Hello?” A male voice answered in a French Canadian accent.

“Hi,” Sharon stroked her hair, nervously. “I'm calling for Marie.”

“Marie? Oh, she's our landlord. She doesn't live here anymore. Do you want her number?”

“Yes, that would be great, thanks.” Sharon’s heart dropped as she realized she wasn’t the only person who’d gotten ten years older. “Do you know why she moved? Is her health okay?”

“Oh yeah, last time we saw her she seemed fit as a fiddle. She moved to Ontario to be close to her family.”

“Her family?”

“Yeah, her granddaughter and her granddaughter's girlfriend. They live across the border. In Michigan, I think.”

Sharon started to feel lightheaded at the mention of Andrea, and at the mention of Andrea having a partner. It wasn’t a surprise. Andrea didn’t exist in some time capsule, where Sharon had last left her. But what shocked Sharon was how much it hurt, to hear confirmation that Andrea had moved on with her life.

Sharon had finished her marathon mission of helping her family survive. And, when she got in touch with herself she realized that what she wanted most in the world was to hear Andrea’s voice again. She wanted to know that Andrea was okay, that she was happy and fulfilled and safe. She wanted to find her, reconnect, and become friends again. But, if Sharon was being truly honest with herself, she also wanted to turn back the clock, to pick up where they left off, to pretend like the last eight years had been a momentary pause in an otherwise unbroken storyline.

Now, it was hitting Sharon that there was no time capsule that had been buried; there was no rewind button on the clock.

“Okay, I’ve got Marie’s number here. Are you ready to take it down?”

Sharon nodded, plaintively, as if the person speaking could see her gesture.

“Hello? Are you still there?”

Sharon hung up, suddenly.

Heart racing, she leaned back against the wall and let herself feel everything flowing through her, just as Dr. Gunnerson had encouraged her to do, years ago.

Sharon tilted her head up, unseeing eyes pointed toward the ceiling, silent tears starting to flow. She acknowledged the painful reality: she had chosen her lot in life, and that lot didn't involve Andrea.

There was no going back.

So it was time to move on.

✢✢✢✢✢

Sharon’s goodbye party warmed her heart.

Her squad was sad to see her go, a fact which surprised her. She was known for being a stringent enforcer of rules, both those on the books and those she instituted. But within the structure of the world she’d created, the people on her team experienced a sense of safety; they felt cared for, fiercely.

Her superiors were the only people more disappointed to see her go. She was honored they’d given her great recommendation letters as she’d started to look for opportunities in California. She’d been most interested in San Francisco, but Los Angeles was the only city that seemed to be hiring out-of-state transfers at the moment. She would have to take night classes on state laws and she’d have to pass a few tests, but assuming all went well, she had a job as a Sergeant in the LAPD.

This wasn’t the circumstance in which she’d originally envisioned herself moving west.

But she was finally doing it.

And that in itself, felt great.

For someone so independent and self-sufficient, ironically, her initial LA apartment was the first time she’d ever lived alone. Suddenly, when she put dishes away, they didn’t move to new places the next day. Instead of having to enforce rules for which shoes needed to be removed in which room, she just enacted her own internal protocols. She monitored a jurisdiction, in which she was the only citizen.

Logistically, financially, and emotionally, it was incredibly simplifying to not be balancing the budget for a family of seven. Even on a police officer’s wage in a big city, her highly optimized frugality allowed her to survive, and even save.

She learned to give herself things: material as well as intangible. And, as she settled into the speedy, yet always sunny, pace of LA life, she found herself experiencing pleasure, joy, and even contentment.

Now that her life was trimmed down, without so many people pulling on her emotional heartstrings and financial drawstrings, she felt like she had so much more space and time. In addition to focusing on her own happiness, she made a plan for advancing in the force.

✢✢✢✢

 


	6. The Force

"Captain?" Detective Allie Moore knocked on the frame of Sharon's open door.

Ever since Sharon had started running the Force Investigation Division, she'd left her door open as a signal that she was available for impromptu meetings or to answer questions.

She smiled at Allie, as a form of invitation.

Detective Moore walked in, nodding at Sharon deferentially, placing a stack of mail on her boss’ desk. Sharon had never asked Allie to pick up her mail. Detective Moore had simply started doing it, as if compelled to perform some kind of tithing.

Ever since Sharon had started managing people, thirty years ago, she’d developed a knack for earning respect. She often wondered what it was that made someone into a leader of people. Sometimes, she thought it was just about setting clear direction and maintaining an unwavering course. That helped people to know what to do, so they could concentrate on doing it. Sometimes, she thought it was about noticing people as individuals, acknowledging their strengths and weaknesses, and helping them cultivate their skills. But most of the time, she understood the unspoken bond between her and her team members was something else entirely. For all of her merciless decisiveness and demanding standards, she deeply cared about the people on her team. She respected them and their chosen sacrifices. And she protected them, with everything at her disposal.

She suspected that was why her team members in the FID were devoted to her, even in a department that bred cynicism.

The first few years in the LAPD had been hard. Sexism had still been alive and well in her hometown, but it had been a small enough Police District that a few trailblazing women had been able to change the perception, if not the composition, of women in the force. When Sharon had arrived in LA, sexism was not only widely accepted, it seemed institutionally encouraged. It became clear, very quickly, that no matter the merits of her work, she would never be promoted to Lieutenant. Besides, there was a bottleneck in the promotional ladder from Sergeant to Lieutenant. And from where she stood, it looked even narrower from Lieutenant to Captain.

So, Sharon made a calculated lateral move to Internal Affairs. She missed being in the field and managing officers who had patrols. But one thing that did appeal to her, philosophically, was that IA’s ultimate mission was to manage the relationship between the force and the public. Sharon cared about both parties, deeply. The problem was, as much as she wanted to be the bearer of healing rituals and reconciliation, ninety-nine percent of the time, she was caught in the crossfire as the LAPD and the civilian populace, lobbed accusations and literal grenades, at one another. Most people didn’t have the stomach for IA careers. It was so unpopular a department in which to make your mark, that although the road to advancement was still challenging, especially for women, Sharon believed it was achievable.

When the FID was created as a subdivision within IA, as a response to increasingly strained public relations and the need for a better risk management system, Captain O’Dwyer became the commanding officer of her own specialized division.

Now, just as she always had, she took care of her people, and they looked up to her, in turn. Small gestures, like picking up her mail, seemed to be the norm around the office.

“How are you, Allie?” Sharon asked, supportively, looking up from the report she was writing.

“Fine, Captain,” Allie smiled wanly, unusually untalkative. Sharon imagined Detective Moore might be having a rough time at home. Always committed to giving people their privacy, Sharon looked back down at her report, not wanting Allie to feel pressured to talk.

Allie turned on her heals, about to walk away from her Captain’s desk, but Detective Moore felt bad for not taking the opportunity to make more conversation.

Allie looked down at the O’Dwyer mail she’d brought in. On the top of the stack was the LAPD end-of-year bulletin. It always contained exciting tidbits such as who was retiring, which departments were receiving new positions, which departments were downsizing, and the new hires in city and state government who partnered in some way with the Police Department. 

Allie knew her Captain’s pet peeves. She realized she had the chance to warn her about one, in particular. "By the way, there's a new Deputy District Attorney."

"Promotion or transfer?" Sharon asked distractedly, scanning the report she’d just finished.

"Transfer."

Sharon groaned, putting down her pen and looking up. "I hate having to break in new blood. It takes so much time to learn our city and our issues. Where’d she or he come from?"

"San Francisco, I think," Allie recalled. "But before that she wasn’t even in California. How does that work, practicing law in other states?"

"Well, since each state has its own court system and rules for bar admission, when you take and pass the bar, you’re really being granted the right to practice law in that state. Some states have reciprocal agreements, but in general, you have to plan your life carefully if you’re a lawyer looking to move. Here in California, we have an exam that out-of-state lawyers can take so they don’t have to take the regular bar.”

Sharon loved an excuse to share information. It was one reason she’d been a good mother to her kids. They’d ask _why_ and she’d oblige, with lengthy explanations. She laughed at herself, inside. She’d have to look into teaching classes at the Police Academy someday. That seemed like something she’d really enjoy. “Anyway, the system works, in my opinion. It ensures that lawyers are fully versed in state-specific laws.”

“You know so much about law. Why is that?” Allie’s initially friendly demeanor now bordered on flattery. Sharon adopted a half-frown at Allie’s obvious attempt to stroke her boss’ ego. But Sharon also adopted a half-smile, for the memory the question evoked. As Sharon had matured, especially in the decade since forty, she’d discovered that she had the ability to hold multiple conflicting emotions simultaneously, and she’d been told that complexity showed on her face. Of course, unless someone knew her well or unless a stranger was good at reading expressions, people didn’t actually know what they were looking at. This was one of those cases, since Detective Moore had no idea everything her boss was thinking. And in Sharon's mind, that was probably for the better.

“Well, Allie, I wanted to be a lawyer, a long time ago.”

“What happened?”

“Family.”

Allie nodded, understanding that they’d reached the end of their personal conversation for the day.

“Thanks for bringing in the mail, Detective.”

“No problem, mam,” Detective Moore exited with a respectful nod.

Sharon smirked to herself. She assumed there were people her age who winced and asked themselves when they'd become "mam.” But Sharon had been the oldest member of a team from the time she led her pack of brothers. So, she’d settled seamlessly into a professional reality where she was respected for her professional merit, and her years on the planet.

Sharon finished signing the report she’d just finished, then reached for her paper shredder, positioning it near her leg so she could quickly sort through her mail and find the ten percent that was actually worth looking at.

She flattened out the LAPD end of year bulletin with one hand, as she reached for her coffee mug and took a sip with her other. Her eyes scanned the page absently, speed reading and looking only for key words or phrases that interested her and impacted her department.

It took two efficient minutes to get to the last page, which announced the retirements and new hires for the force and partner agencies. Each of the incoming and outgoing were displayed with a name, headshot, and three-line bio. Sharon scribbled a name on a sticky note to remind herself to send a retirement gift to one of the force's longest serving female beat cops. Then, Sharon lifted the bulletin to put it in the shredder, but a name caused her to pause, mid-movement.

_Andrea Hobbs._

"Captain, are you okay?" Allie asked from her desk just outside Sharon’s door.

Sharon realized she must have gasped aloud.

"I'm fine Detective, thank you. I just realized I have something I need to do. Can you please close my door?"

Sharon waited to hear the click of the latch before she dared looked down again. She re-flattened the last page of the bulletin with an uncharacteristically shaky hand.

Staring back at her was a grainy, black and white, government ID headshot of Andrea Hobbs.

She was thirty years older, thirty years more mature, but it was undoubtedly her. No one ever smiled in their government headshots, so it wasn't unusual to see someone unsmiling. But it did give Sharon pause. She squinted at the photo, as if the lines on Andrea's face could reveal her lifetime of stories: the loves, the losses. Without taking her eyes off the photograph, Sharon picked up the phone and pressed her speed dial to the District Attorney's office.

✢✢✢✢✢

Andrea heard her cell phone ring in the other room.

"Damn it," she mumbled, knowing that by the time she had managed to put down the box of dishes she was carrying and had run into the other room, she would have missed the call. She decided to let it ring. As she carefully put the box on the counter, the phone stopped ringing, and she waited for the voicemail beep, signifying a message had been left. She didn't hear one, so she shrugged to herself, pulled out her exacto knife, and cut through the tape holding down the cardboard flaps.

Three hours later, sweaty, dusty, and hungry, Andrea broke down eight empty boxes, stacked them by the front door, and headed in search of her phone. She needed Yelp to help her get to know her new home.

As Andrea picked up her iPhone, she noticed a missed call alert and she remembered having heard it ring earlier. Oddly, the number said "Los Angeles Police Department." Andrea pressed "call back" and after a single ring, she reached the automated directory for the LAPD switchboard. "You have reached the Los Angeles Police Department. If you know your party's extension, please press…" Andrea hung up. Maybe the call had been a wrong number. It couldn’t be work related since she hadn’t even started yet. Her first day wasn’t for another two weeks.

She leaned against the wall, not yet the proud owner of a chair, and using her phone, she looked up Thai, Vietnamese, and Cambodian restaurants in her neighborhood. She was pleased to read some satisfactory reviews. It wasn't San Francisco, she'd never really wanted to live in LA, but here she was and she was planning to make the most of it, starting with spring rolls.

As Andrea sat at the counter in the Southeast Asian themed gastropub, she found herself wondering what Avery was doing, right now. Andrea started playing with her phone in her pocket, flipping it over in her hand, rotating it one way then another, a nervous habit. Andrea didn't regret leaving SF, no, she knew from past experience that the best way for her to get over someone and move past a chapter of her life was to go to a new place and face a new challenge.

She'd first used that strategy over thirty years ago, when she and Sharon O’Dwyer ended their relationship. It's not that Andrea didn't take the time to process her emotions. She did. But she'd always been a monger for meaning, seeing symbolism and sublime moments in the smallest detail. Professionally, it was a little known fact that she was a romantic with a rich imagination. It honestly never came up. She was all business at work, known for getting a job done, quickly and well. But the truth was, she had a dreamer side to her. And because of how much poetry and how many memories she saw in every archway and cross street and bistro counter, it became too hard for her to remain in one place after a heartbreak.

Being with Sharon, then breaking up with Sharon, had taught Andrea that it wasn’t worth getting that close to someone unless it was forever.

That's why she let herself believe she and Avery were in it for the long haul.

And that's why Andrea had clung to their relationship, long after the writing was on the wall.

She and Avery had enjoyed their more than two decades together. And they'd helped each other grow, certainly. But in the last few years, it became evident that some of the ways in which they’d grown were fundamentally divergent.

Andrea wanted to grow ever more entwined, sharing life and space and time. She also wanted to embed more deeply in their community, becoming a committed member of their neighborhood on a small scale and their city on a large scale.

But Avery had an itch to travel and a desire for space. They’d been able to work with those needs in the past, and incorporate them into the rhythm of their life. But in the last few years, those needs had become all consuming.

Avery had grown up enmeshed with her mother and when her mother died a few years ago, Avery had started to go through an identity crisis that morphed into a midlife crisis. Instead of wanting the comfort and support of her partner, Avery wanted physical and emotional space to rediscover who she was. And that meant ending their relationship. Andrea respected the desire for self-growth and self-discovery. But that didn't mean it didn't hurt.

Avery offered that Andrea stay in their San Francisco condo. Avery's business consulting allowed her to work remotely. Most of her clients were in the EU, so as long as she could talk to them during business hours, she could be anywhere in the world. And, once untethered from Andrea, that’s exactly what she planned to do.

But Andrea knew herself. She knew she'd go crazy if she stayed in that condo alone, seeing a ghost of Avery in every corner. Also, with one government income instead of two incomes, one of which had been a very healthy one from the private sector, staying in their condo wasn’t even feasible.

So, she'd applied for a transfer from the SF District Attorney's office to other offices in the state. Two positions were available for a Deputy District Attorney. One in San Diego and one in LA. She wasn't crazy about the prospect of living in a more dense, more smoggy, more frenetic city. San Diego would be so much more her style. But, for some reason, a reason that probably had to do with morbid curiosity and the love of a challenge in times of emotional distress, she picked LA. She knew it would be an adventure, if nothing else.

Andrea felt her phone vibrate in her hand as she flipped it round and round in her pocket. Her heart skipped, wondering if Avery was calling to check in on her, making good on their promise to remain friends.

Andrea's heart sank a little, as she realized it wasn't Avery. It was the LAPD again. "Andrea Hobbs," Andrea answered professionally, as if her cell phone was her not yet existent office line.

"Andrea," a woman's voice returned. "Hi. This is Sharon. Sharon O'Dwyer."

✢✢✢✢✢

A flood of memories washed over Andrea, so quickly she started feeling nauseous. She was suddenly riding a carousel at hyper-speed, watching her memories with Sharon spin past her.

“One minute,” Andrea managed to say without puking, placing her phone carefully on the counter, as if it was a timebomb.

Andrea took a big gulp of water from the red plastic glass, then put a twenty-dollar bill on the counter, paying for the food that hadn’t yet arrived.

She picked up the phone, got off the stool, and pushed open the door to the outside. Andrea looked around, momentarily, as if trying to stop her own spinning carousel by visually focusing on the busy street. It wasn’t working.

She put the phone back up to her ear.

"Sharon? Are you still there?" she asked, then instantly wondered if she subconsciously meant that in a meta way.

"Yes. I’m still here."

"What are you, how did you…"

"I work for the LAPD. In the Force Investigation Division. I stay informed about new government employees whose work might impact my department's."

"You work with the DA’s office.”

"Yes."

"I had no idea…"

"That we'd be working together?" Sharon’s voice was impressively buoyant. Andrea wondered if it was an act.

"No, I didn't know we’d be working together. I didn't know you were here. Honestly, I didn't know where you were or what you were doing. I'm sorry. I have other options. I'll just explain to the DA that something came up and that I need to go to San Diego instead. I'm sorry. I really didn't know."

Andrea remembered everything Sharon last said to her three decades ago, as if it was yesterday. Andrea cared about Sharon. She suspected she always would. And if what was best for Sharon was for Andrea to keep her distance and not be in contact, that's what Andrea planned to do.

"Hold on a second,” Sharon said gently, her tone calm and even. She was confused, but determined to figure this out. “What’s this about San Diego? Don’t change your plans. Why are you apologizing? You have nothing to be sorry for."

"I don’t want to crowd you. I doubt we'd work together that often, but I understand completely. This is your territory. I'm sorry you had to call me…"

"Andrea, Andrea,” Sharon laughed gently. “Are you serious?"

Andrea couldn't tell if that was a rhetorical question or a real one, but the pause on Sharon's end prompted Andrea to answer. "Yes...?"

"Andrea, I'm not calling you because I want you to go away..."

Andrea closed her eyes and let Sharon’s voice wash over her. It was more resonant and self-assured than Andrea remembered it; it was steelier, yet lighter. Despite the subtle changes, it was the same vocal imprint; the same soul behind the sound. Sharon's voice reverberated through Andrea's skull, tingling sensations surrounded her ribcage, sending electricity down her spine the way lightning looks for ground.

"...I'm calling to say hi, to let you know we may be working with one another, and to see if you'd be up for getting together before you start. I thought it might be easier to meet up outside of work, rather than see each other for the first time while we’re in the middle of some horrible internal investigation where you're reviewing charges against one of my officers."

There it was: a playful chuckle, hidden just beneath Sharon’s words. Sharon sounded self-confident and grounded in her work, yet able to laugh at herself and the realities of her job. She sounded exactly like a mature version of the Sharon O’Dwyer Andrea had known thirty years ago.

Dazed, Andrea reached up and touched her cheek with her free hand. She was checking to see if the smile she felt on the inside, had made its way to the surface. "Hey, listen. I...” Andrea found it hard to know what to say. So she decided to call a recess. “...I just need some time to process this. Can I get back to you? About getting together I mean?"

"Oh, yes, absolutely. Let me give you my extension."

Andrea wanted to get off the phone, immediately. The emotional carnival ride on the inside, and the car exhaust on the outside, both made her dizzy. "I'll get it from the directory. You're still O'Dwyer?"

"Still O'Dwyer," Sharon affirmed, remembering the ongoing conversation they used to have about marriage and names. They’d both agreed that hyphenating names and taking one another's was the most symbolic demonstration of an equal partnership. Sharon had posited that if someone was successful in their career, they shouldn't change their name, even with a hyphen, because they'd lose some of the power they'd developed with their original moniker. The truth was, Sharon had ended up remaining O'Dwyer for a more fundamental reason: she'd never met another person with whom she'd wanted to share a hyphen.

"Great. I'll get back to you." Andrea hung up, suddenly flustered.

Sharon took a deep breath and looked at the phone for a minute before putting it back in its cradle. She moved her hand over her heart, as if internal scar tissue from decades ago, was tingling and pulsing, reawakened. Sharon couldn't tell if it hurt or felt good. Probably both. Either way, she felt more alive than she had in thirty years.

✢✢✢✢✢

Andrea would have run if that wouldn't have made her look like a lunatic or a criminal.

Instead, she walked briskly through the streets, allowing herself to ignore all signage or sense of direction. If Andrea allowed it, Sharon O'Dwyer was about to re-enter her world. Andrea let that news sink into her brain, body, and bones, so she could get in touch with what she wanted.

It was 11pm before Andrea stopped walking. She literally stopped in her tracks, suddenly clear about how she felt.

Now that she knew, she didn't want to wait until morning to take action. She decided to call and leave Sharon a voicemail, right now. Andrea dialed the LAPD main line and punched “ODW” into the keypad, to reach Sharon's extension and voicemail box.

"FID."

"Sharon?"

"Andrea?"

"I didn't expect you to pick up."

"You called my number."

"But it's late. I thought I'd just leave a message."

"Do you want me to hang up so you can call back and talk to my voicemail?" Sharon said flatly, while grinning madly to herself.

Luckily, Andrea had emerged from her daze of a few hours ago, and was finally able to hear Sharon’s humor. "I was just going to tell you that yes, I would like to get together. And, I was going to tell you that I'm available really anytime in the next three days. I'm just moving in. So, no work, no social obligations. I can get together whenever works for you."

"How about tomorrow afternoon? Something can always come up in this line of work, as you well know. But, barring a new, showstopping investigation, I'm available around 5."

"Let's do it. Where should we meet up?"

Sharon had already thought this through. They couldn't meet at Sharon’s condo, that was way too personal and vulnerable. They couldn't meet at a restaurant, that was way too structured and potentially awkward. It was going to be strange enough reconnecting after all these years. Why add the complication of having to maintain public decorum? "How about the park bench, just north of the boathouse at Echo Park Lake."

"It sounds like you're arranging a drug deal."

"Don't joke about things like that on government phone calls!" Sharon laughed, wholeheartedly. "We record these calls you know."

God it was good to hear Sharon laugh. It was the same laugh too, just deeper, richer, more sure of itself. "I'll be there,” Andrea replied. “I don't know my way around yet, but I’m sure I can find it. I hear Echo Park is one of the few oases in this otherwise concrete mess of a...” Andrea stopped herself. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to insult your city."

"Don't be silly," Sharon assured Andrea. "Be honest. I've always loved that about you."

Sharon clasped her hand to her mouth. _Sharon, Sharon, Sharon_ , she tisked herself. _Why couldn’t you have said ‘appreciated’ instead of ‘loved?’ Also, you need to stop assuming this is the same Andrea that you knew when you were twenty. For all you know she might be a completely different person._

Sharon cleared her throat and her head. "But you're right, this city is a tangled mess of asphalt. I'm honestly surprised you're here. I always pictured you in some beautiful city, set against a lake or mountain range, heading out to hiking trails after work."

"Maybe we shouldn't meet up, so you can maintain your flattering image of my life." Andrea replied, with characteristic sass. She sighed, dropping down into a genuine tone of reflection. “I love your imagination.”

Sharon’s eyes widened as she noticed Andrea had used that word too. _Was it too much to ask for two smart, articulate women to come up with synonyms to the word 'love' at 11pm?_

Sharon spoke into the silence, which had conspicuously descended. "See you tomorrow at five?"

"Yup. Call me if something comes up," Andrea confirmed, suddenly becoming aware of her surroundings. Where had she walked herself to? “Where the hell am I?” Andrea mumbled.

“I don’t know. Where the hell are you?”

They both burst into laughter, though Sharon had no idea what Andrea was talking about.

In truth, they laughed to release the tension at the wonder of it all, at the happenstance of reconnecting after all these years, at the impatient desire for the past to catch up with the present, at the barely stifled fear that neither of them had a clue how to accurately imagine the other person’s life, much less who they’d each become. Both women suddenly felt nervous that this playful prelude was just a setup for a disappointing encounter.

“I’m going to GPS myself. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

✢✢✢✢✢


	7. Precession

Andrea headed for the park a good three hours before their arranged meeting time. She'd heard traffic and parking were both impossible in LA. Plus, she’d never been to Echo Park so she didn't know exactly where the boathouse was. And, if Sharon was still as planful and punctual as thirty years ago, she could be expected at least five minutes early.

So, Andrea was delighted and relieved to arrive at the park with an hour and a half to spare.

She began walking around the lake, leisurely, glad she’d opted for jeans and tennis shoes. Her pace was the definition of a stroll. She took time to watch the swans and the kids playing with their golden retriever. She even discreetly let her eyes pass over a teenaged couple, making out under a tree. _Were we that young and bold?_ She wondered to herself. _Well, no, we were older than that. And we were always more reserved. But, we did love each other that fiercely and unabashedly._

She thought back to all the passion, all the emotion. And she couldn't help but feel it all again, as if it were yesterday. She thought those emotions, those memories, would feel childish, trite, and insubstantial in retrospect. On the contrary.

She found a quiet place to sit, leaning back on the grass, closing her eyes and letting the emotions wash over her. The feelings of love that she'd had for Sharon, the ecstatic joy, the deep sadness and heartache when it was over, it was all some of the strongest emotion she'd ever felt. Incredibly, it was just as potent now, as it was then.

Half an hour before their arranged meeting time, Andrea made her way to the appointed bench.

She sat down and found the sun was right in her face.

So she closed her eyes, breathed deeply, and enjoyed the warmth.

✢✢✢✢✢

Sharon was always efficient when she was getting ready to leave work.

But today, she’d taken her efficiency to a whole ‘nother level. She wrapped up her reports and her one-on-ones with team members by 4:15, closed the blinds to her office, and changed out of her work slacks into jeans and tennis shoes. She also removed her jacket, but kept her blouse. If they were actually going to walk around the lake, she wanted to be comfortable.

As she grabbed her bag, locked her office, and headed down to her car, she marveled at how natural it felt to be meeting up with Andrea.

✢✢✢✢✢

Andrea opened her eyes, gazing serenely at the flock of birds rising up off the water's surface, flying to the opposite bank, and - in a seamless act of self-organization - inserting themselves into the interlocked branches of two side-by-side trees. A figure on the other side of the lake caught Andrea's eye.

She knew her eyesight wasn't what it used to be. That had started to drop off a few years ago. But she knew that gait, that stride, that presence. “Sharon,” she said aloud to herself.

Her heart started beating in a steady, familiar rhythm. She didn't feel amped up, or even adrenalized. A different self-generated chemical flooded her blood. She felt calm, soothed, at peace. An irrepressible smile broke out across her face.

✢✢✢✢✢

“Andrea,” Sharon whispered to herself. She could see Andrea, sitting on the bench, across the lake.

Sharon felt compelled to break into a run. Instead, she kept walking, as steadily as she could. But she felt like a colt, penned up, trembling with anticipatory kinetic energy. Andrea's face turned towards her, and even at this distance, Sharon could tell, Sharon could feel, that Andrea was erupting into a smile. Sharon instinctively smiled in return.

✢✢✢✢✢

It was all Andrea could do to stay seated as Sharon approached.

Sharon was radiant. Powerful. Beautiful. Substantial.

Andrea stared agape, in awe.

Sharon was only forty feet away, but Andrea remained grounded, supported by the bench and the earth.

✢✢✢✢✢

Sharon felt the sky and earth and trees and people fall away. There was nothing in the universe but Andrea.

✢✢✢✢✢

When Sharon was within a few feet, Andrea stood up.

They stepped into one another’s embrace.

✢✢✢✢✢

From the outside, the hug was still, steady, and lasted ten minutes.

For Andrea and Sharon, their mirror neurons answered unasked questions at the speed of light. Their souls flew around the world countless times, periodically coming back to roost in the safety of the embrace. Their hearts tumbled through the universe, anchored to the earth through one another.

They both shuddered with emotion, their faces tucked over the other woman's shoulder.

"Sharon," Andrea whispered.

Sharon had no idea how much she'd missed hearing her name on Andrea's lips. "Mmmm," Sharon hummed, knowing that if she tried to speak words, the sound would give away the tears she was silently shedding.

"Are you crying?" Andrea asked, softly.

Sharon laughed, pulling her face off of Andrea's shoulder, keeping her hands on Andrea's arms, as if holding them both in place. Sharon’s face revealed a sublime mixture of tears and inexpressible joy.

"Me too," Andrea said unnecessarily, smiling into her own tear-lined face.

They started laughing into their tears, strengthened by the assurance of seeing the other person tremble with similar emotion.

They hugged again, tighter this time.

"I missed you," Andrea mumbled into Sharon's hair. She'd never said anything more true. She didn't know what, or who, she'd been missing all these years. She didn't know she’d been missing anyone at all.

"I've missed you, too," Sharon agreed, solidly. She was experiencing a stunning moment of clarity. She didn’t know what had been “off” with her life. She didn’t know anything had been wrong, until now.

For both Sharon and Andrea, pieces of their very beings were suddenly falling into place, the soul was reorganizing itself, and the universe was making sense.

Andrea breathed Sharon in, allowing every inch of her body to record the feeling of this moment, knowing she would stay in this embrace forever, if given the chance.

Sharon wanted to reach up and move a strand of Andrea's damp hair out of Andrea’s eyes, but that was a line of tending and intimacy that she didn’t have permission to cross.

The truth was, they still knew nothing about the other's life.

They pulled apart slowly, reluctantly.

Sharon gestured to the bench beside them, as a question.

Andrea nodded once in affirmation and sat down. Sharon sat beside Andrea, two inches between their thighs. They both looked straight ahead, at the water, sighing audibly. They smiled to themselves at the synchronicity of their sighs.

"It's like I'm seeing everything in color for the first time," Sharon admitted, turning to look at Andrea.

"I know exactly what you mean," Andrea smiled in return.

"Tell me everything," Sharon smiled.

✢✢✢✢✢

"What time does the park close?" Andrea asked, noticing the sunlight had been replaced by moonlight.

Sharon looked at her phone before putting it back in her pocket. "An hour from now."

They'd been walking around the lake, arm in arm, for more than three hours. It was like they needed an hour to describe each decade of life.

Sharon had shared about her early years as a cop, supporting her family of origin, seeing a therapist, and finally breaking free. She thanked Andrea, as she'd wanted to do for years. "Thank you for planting the seed that self-care was valuable and that I deserved to have a life of my own."

Sharon shared about her move to California and her decision to go into Internal Affairs because of the opportunity for promotion. She described her toughest cases and those that had a big impact on her career. She talked about what it was like being a woman in the force. She described the experience of being sexually harassed, deemed inconsequential, then later being seen as a threat and becoming the focus of unrighteous hatred.

She talked about dating, but never really enjoying another person’s company more than she enjoyed her own. She described the decision to adopt, and how as a woman with a good income, government benefits, a condo, and a good psychological evaluation, there were many things in her favor; but, that as a single person, in a household with a one income, living in an urban setting, and working in a statistically dangerous profession, it hurt her chances of being a good candidate. That was part of why she’d committed herself to Internal Affairs. Instead of being in the line of fire, she convinced the adoption agencies that she was more likely to develop carpal tunnel than get shot.

Andrea was secretly skeptical when Sharon starting talking about her decision to become a mother. Being responsible for others was so much a part of Sharon's identity, even when they were young, that Andrea worried Sharon had become a parent out of an outdated need to have purpose in life. But as Sharon talked about the decision and what she had been like in her mid-thirties, Andrea could tell Sharon had been grounded, self-examined, and mature in making her choice. Sure, some of her sense of self still came from caring for others, but her kindness and generosity seemed to be deftly balanced, between giving to others and giving to herself.

Sharon adopted siblings: two year old Emily and four year old Ricky. It was easier to adopt kids who were older, and who were siblings. Older children were thought to be damaged goods. So Sharon became the mother of two kids who’d been floating around Indiana foster care for over a year. Now, Ricky was in his senior year at UC Sacramento and Emily was a sophomore at a small liberal arts college in Ohio.

Andrea was having a hard time grasping the passage of time. How could Sharon have children older than she and Sharon were when they first met? “Can you believe we've lived more years of life since we last saw one another, than we'd lived before we met one another?”

"Amazing, isn't it?" Sharon was awed, agreeing with Andrea in her adorable isn't-life-amazing tone of voice. Throughout her life, awe and wonder and appreciation had kept Sharon grounded amidst her striving and achieving and excelling. Yes, she was goal oriented. Yes, she liked to win. But she had always appreciated the world’s overt beauty and noticed its hidden majesty. She wasn’t afraid to be curious and enthralled.

Sharon held Andrea's elbow as they walked, tugging and squeezing as she empathetically reacted to Andrea's stories.

Where Sharon's life read like a scrapbook of finger-painted announcements, Andrea's was like a world map with circles drawn around each location she’d loved.

It turned out she had gone to Europe after college. She spent two years traveling, house sitting and teaching English, informally studying each country and culture. At the end of her journey, knowing she’d gotten into her chosen law school, she spent her final few months in France. That’s where she'd met Avery.

Avery was an entry level business strategist for a multinational corporation. She had dual citizenship in France and America. After a year of making overseas calls to talk on the phone, Avery made the move to the US, working in an American branch of her company, and living close enough to Andrea’s university that they saw one another every weekend.

Avery was promoted at the company and given an opportunity in the midwest. So, after Andrea graduated from law school, they moved to Michigan together. Andrea clerked at the state attorney’s office. Andrea’s grandmother, Marie, moved to Ontario so they could visit her often.

Avery eventually left the big corporation and became the Chief Financial Officer for a small start up. The salary was just as good, but the upside in stock was much greater. And, it meant they could move to San Francisco, where Andrea had always wanted to live. So they made their way to California and Andrea settled into her life at the District Attorney's office.

Avery loved to travel and Andrea went with her whenever possible, but whereas Andrea imagined life would become more predictable as they aged, Avery wanted it to become more exciting, as if trying to combat the natural passage of time with a lifestyle one could only call youthful. Andrea attempted to join Avery in her renaissance energy by picking up the acoustic guitar and teaching herself to play. But Avery wasn’t just interested in picking up new hobbies and taking vacations to exotic places, she wanted an entirely different lifestyle: one that didn’t involve the stabilizing force of a partner.

As Andrea described how things ended with her and Avery, Sharon realized just how raw and recent it all was.

✢✢✢✢✢

"Where do we go from here?" Sharon sighed, still walking with Andrea, under the stars.

"Well, if I remember correctly, we stay on the path, curve around, and keep the lake to our right," Andrea teased, knowing that navigating around the ovular lake was so easy they could do in their sleep.

"You know what I mean," Sharon pulled Andrea's arm gently and stopped walking, causing Andrea to stop too, and face her. “Where do we go from here?”

"I don't know," Andrea replied, vulnerably.

"Are we going to wake up in the morning and wonder why we each told a stranger our deepest darkest secrets?" Sharon asked, tilting her head to one side, quizzically.

"I don't think so," Andrea blinked. "Is that what you think?"

"No," Sharon shook her head, shaking herself out of that irrational fear. "I think I'll wake up and wonder if you want to hang out again."

The vulnerability Sharon was showing, made Andrea all the more tender. "Nothing would make me happier," Andrea admitted, honestly.

Facing one another, holding each other’s forearms, they leaned in and their right cheeks brushed lightly as they made a kiss sound near the other person’s ear.

"Goodnight, Sharon."

"Sleep well, Andrea."

They parted ways and walked to their respective cars, by moonlight.

✢✢✢✢✢

The clink of glasses, the hum of small talk, the light classical music in the background. It was all too uptight and antiseptic a setting in which to see Sharon again.

But when Sharon called her today and invited her to get together for a second time, the truth was, Andrea would have said yes to bungee jumping, or karaoke, or any number of things she wouldn't normally do. In the intervening day, as she'd settled into her apartment, stocked her fridge at the local co-op, and joined a gym, the truth was, all she'd thought about was Sharon.

So here she was, at the gallery opening for a collection at the Getty, desperately uncomfortable and irrationally annoyed by the background murmur of well dressed patrons and the subdued music specifically designed to not overwhelm the art.

"All this art to look at and you're staring out the window," Sharon’s voice came up behind her.

Andrea turned around, mouth slightly agape, as she stared at the gorgeous vision of Sharon. Something about Sharon’s presence had always inspired honesty. What came out now was the unfiltered truth. “I hate art museums. I'm sorry, Sharon. I really do.”

“Don't apologize,” Sharon shrugged playfully, unable to stop smiling at Andrea. Sharon reached out and took Andrea's barely sipped champagne glass, placing both their flutes on the nearest shoulder-high table. Then, Sharon grabbed Andrea by the hand.

Andrea followed, obediently, as Sharon wove them through a sea of well dressed art history aficionados. The fact that she and Sharon were technically holding hands was not lost on Andrea. She wondered if Sharon had noticed, or even intended it. Sharon navigated them through an open door that led onto a patio. Then, like a police dog still sniffing out its prize, Sharon swiveled her head, not yet satisfied with their surroundings.

Without speaking, Sharon led them across the patio and down the concrete stairs, the sounds from the gala above now fading, being replaced by a few evening bird calls. Walking quickly through a manicured garden, they turned a corner, and Sharon smiled with delight.

"Here?" She asked Andrea as they looked upon a small secluded courtyard, probably used for sculpture showings, but now, absent of art and housing only some well kept greenery and a low stone wall.

By way of answering, Andrea smiled at Sharon gratefully, the precise wrinkles in Andrea’s forehead speaking volumes: _You didn't have to do that, but thank you. Thank you for understanding or at least accommodating me._

Andrea segued her facial expression into one of self deprecation. "I don't know what I was trying to prove with these shoes," she said sarcastically, shaking her head. She didn't want to let go of Sharon's hand, so she reached down with her free hand and removed her left shoe, then stepped out of her right shoe with assistance from her left toes.

Through this whole process, Sharon lifted her shoulders and her forehead in an expression that conveyed: _You are adorable and completely endeared to me_. At the same time, Andrea felt Sharon squeeze their linked hands.

"Well, if we're doing this, let's do it." Sharon said with energy, letting go of Andrea's hand to place it on Andrea's shoulder, for balance. She leaned on Andrea for support as she removed her own shoes. She then returned her hand to its spot, entwined with Andrea's.

Andrea felt her heart flutter at the gesture. Until now, the fact that they were holding hands could have been perceived as the unintentional outgrowth of the practical act of exiting the crowded museum. But now, Sharon had reset the gesture, physically admitting the intentionality of the original action.

They looked at one another and smiled knowingly, then stepped forward, barefoot, onto the grass. They walked to the approximate center of the green rectangle before sitting down.

Sharon bent her knees and curved her legs to one side, so she was shaped like a comfortable ‘z.’ Andrea extended her legs in front of her, crossing one ankle over the other and using her elbows to support her as she leaned back, slightly reclined.

"Okay, tell me everything," Sharon said excitedly.

"We did that day before yesterday," Andrea cocked her head, eyeing Sharon, quizzically.

"Tell me everything about why you hate art museums," Sharon explained, then clarified, "as long as you're comfortable talking about it I mean."

Andrea chuckled at Sharon's thoughtful qualification. "Don't worry, I didn't have a bad breakup in an art museum or anything. Nothing so dramatic as that.” Andrea sighed, aiming her eyes at the open sky, voice reflective, “There’s just something institutionalized, and institutionalizing, about art museums. The massive rooms, the white walls, the high ceilings, the bright light, the absence of comfortable furniture or other signs of real human life…” She shrugged and made eye contact with an attentive Sharon. “...I don't know, I think it desecrates the art. I know that's a bold thing to say, but most old, great art was made with human dwellings in mind. It was meant to reflect and compliment human life, not be separate from it. To me, going to an art museum is like visiting a morgue to study the beauty of the human body. The full, expressive beauty of human bodies is so much better experienced in a live, human setting. Sorry, that was morbid...” Andrea caught herself after the fact, hoping she hadn’t horrified Sharon with her metaphor. Sharon, the consummate cop, appeared unfazed. “...So I guess that's what it comes down to: the experience. I love art, I believe in the power of art. But I believe in experiencing it. Having an emotional, mental, spiritual experience. There's no way to experience art in a deep, personal, perspective altering way when you're standing next to throngs of elitist jerks who are playing a high class game of oneupmanship as they take turns promenading their abilities to memorize facts about artists deemed canonical."

Sharon absorbed everything Andrea said, as she said it, enjoying Andrea’s voice and fascinated by her thoughts. When Andrea paused, Sharon mused, thoughtfully. "Is that why I always feel like a fraud at events like this? Like it's some kind of spectator sport where the approved team cheers have already been decided, and I'm supposed to react to the art in certain ways?"

"Sure. I bet a lot of people feel similarly but are afraid to admit it. They see the art, they report to others that they saw it. They even buy the postcard or coffee table book. But did they experience the piece, inside their souls, in an authentic, unique way? Unlikely."

Sharon smiled, an undercurrent of laughter beneath her voice. "What other social conventions or institutions have you grown passionate about, Andrea?" Sharon leaned to one side, putting her weight on one hand, settling in for an evening of learning more about the person who was more endearing and more fascinating than anyone she'd ever met.

Their first conversation at Echo Park had been about the big strokes, the major life changes, the events and awards and promotions that would go on one's biography book jacket.

Their second conversation, this conversation, was about the arcane passions, developments in each other's psyches, quirks that were still present and those that had newly developed.

For the second time in a row, they talked until the stars shone.

✢✢✢✢✢

Their third conversation was two evenings later. This time, Andrea suggested a location:  MacArthur Park.

“You became a local quick,” Sharon quipped over the phone.

“I just like the outdoor setting. It feels less restrictive.”

“I understand,” Sharon agreed. “I spend all day inside. I don’t exactly have a beat anymore.”

That evening, at the lakeside park, Andrea was already sitting on the designated bench when Sharon arrived.

They greeted one another with a prolonged hug, as they’d gotten used to doing.

Andrea sat back down on the bench. Sharon followed Andrea’s lead and sat too. A respectable two inches of space separated them.

They both faced forward, gazing wordlessly at the lake, as dusk settled.

Andrea rested her hand, palm down, on the bench in the space between them.

Without looking down, Sharon gently placed her hand over Andrea's.

Andrea smiled to herself at the history in that gesture, then turned her palm face up, entwining their fingers.

After ten minutes of silent sitting, watching the water birds make their last dives of the day, listening to the crickets and cicadas start their songs, Andrea spoke. She whispered, as if not wanting to break the spell with her voice. "What are we doing?"

"We're getting to know one another," Sharon spoke softly. After a pause she smiled playfully and added, "again."

"Sharon, you know what I mean. This..." Andrea lifted their linked hands, as proof of a slowly developing intimacy.

Sharon's eyes welled with tears, afraid Andrea was pointing out their linked hands because Andrea felt there was something wrong with the act. "I don't know," Sharon whispered. Her voice was still composed, but the speed with which she'd generated the tears, proved a river of emotion had been just under the surface. "All I know is, I like it. I like you." Sharon shook her head back and forth, at a loss, squeezing Andrea’s hand, gently. "I don't want to stop. I don't want you to go away."

"I'm not going anywhere," Andrea assured her, placing her other hand on Sharon's knee. "I like this, too. Don’t get me wrong. And I want to keep spending time with you. And getting to know you, again. It’s even richer than before. But..." Andrea took her hand off Sharon's knee and placed it over her own heart. "I have to protect myself." Andrea's eyes filled with tears. "It hurt too much last time…” She bit the corner of her mouth and broke eye contact, looking up and to the left.

"Being together?" Sharon asked in a small voice.

"No, no, being together was life giving," Andrea clarified. "Being apart is what I can't repeat. I can't...I can't be left by you again."

There was so much emotion surrounding the memory that when Andrea finally voiced it in clear, plain language, she was left with a surprising stillness. She remade eye contact with Sharon, blinking away her tears, as if seeing Sharon for the first time.

Sharon too, looked clear-eyed and sober. "Andrea. I am so sorry."

Sharon noticed Andrea was slouching, as if her head was too heavy to hold up. Sharon reached out and touched the back of Andrea’s neck, gently guiding Andrea to lay her head against Sharon's chest. Sharon stroked Andrea’s hair, resting her own chin atop the back of Andrea’s head.

It had been years since Andrea had been held against someone's chest and been comforted in this way. It suddenly felt like something she'd always wanted, but never knew to ask for. She let herself melt into Sharon's bosom as Sharon stroked her hair.

Sharon kissed the back of Andrea's head. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for hurting you."

"No, no. You didn't do anything wrong. Don’t apologize,” Andrea said in a muffled voice, shaking her head against Sharon’s chest. “We were always kind to each other. Even at the end.”

They stayed in that position for minutes, Sharon's lips pressed against Andrea's hair, Andrea letting herself be comforted by the same person who’d broken her heart all those years ago. As Sharon held her, Andrea felt herself being comforted for every other heartbreak as well: the recent end with Avery, but most of all, the heartbreak of losing her parents.

Listening to Sharon’s heartbeat, Andrea started to believe in them again. They’d grown, they’d lived, they’d each lost. And Andrea trusted that this time, they could survive anything.

"So, if we're doing this," Andrea lifted her head to look Sharon in the eyes, "I have to take it slow." Andrea was aware of the irony. She’d just been crying into Sharon’s chest, a highly vulnerable act, usually reserved for the deepest relationships.

"Us slow, or rest of the world slow?" Sharon asked sincerely, but with a smile, referencing their youth and their fearless flaunting of decorum.

"Us slow," Andrea considered, before answering. "I just ended a very real, very long relationship. I'm a little tender. I need time to acclimate. I need graduated stages, and space to get in touch with myself. Seeing you again has brought up so much for me, in a good way, a hard way." Andrea saw Sharon's face grow concerned but reached out and touched her leg, assuringly. "But it's good, it really is. It's making me reflect on life. Choices I made, reasons for doing things. And it's important I let those feelings and thoughts surface."

"That sounds great, Andrea. It sounds perfect, actually. You know that I've always been one to drive towards my goals,” she laughed at herself, remembering countless acts of determination. “Well, I've learned about patience. Not just patience for others. Patience for myself. A government job and raising children will teach you about patience. Well, patience when it comes to other people and systems. But I've also had to work on being patient with myself. Instead of pushing myself towards a goal, obsessively, I've learned to slow down, take a deep breath, and pay attention to whatever I'm feeling in the moment. Otherwise, I run the risk of jumping past the feeling into action, and missing the chance to learn about myself in the process.” Sharon sighed, coming to the end of her soliloquy. “So I promise I will take the time I need, too.”

Andrea lifted their still linked hands, kissing the back of Sharon’s. “And no suddenly going away.”

“And no suddenly going away,” Sharon shook her head.

“If something big comes up, we come here,” Andrea proposed.

“To this spot,” Sharon nodded.

“And talk it out, feel it out, sit in silence, whatever needs to happen.”

“Absolutely. It’s a deal.”

✢✢✢✢✢


	8. Epilogue

It had been over two years since Andrea had reentered her life, and Sharon couldn't have been happier.

They didn't live together, but any daytime or nighttime moment that their stressful jobs could spare, they spent in one another's company.

Andrea's lease was up soon and they'd talked about the possibility of having her move in with Sharon. After all, Sharon's kids were grown and her condo had more than enough space for two people who relished each other's company so much.

"Besides..." Sharon had cooed into Andrea's ear one night when Andrea wished she could stay over but didn't want to risk driving home in morning traffic before work. "...It'll be like the old days." Sharon had her arms wrapped around Andrea, from behind. As she talked, her breath warmed the back of Andrea's neck, pleasantly reminding Andrea of their physical proximity. "We'd share this bedroom, but we could also turn my spare bedroom into a shared space."

"Where we do our homework and studying?"

Sharon snorted softly, then realized Andrea's nostalgic joke wasn't that far from what Sharon intended. "Actually, yes. We could set up a little home office in there. It'll be a lot more fun to do late night paperwork if we can play footsie under the table."

"Agreed," Andrea chuckled, fondly remembering their youth and now imagining a never-ending study date with Sharon O'Dwyer.

✢✢✢✢✢

After thirty years of service, Sharon was ready to hang up her uniform.

She walked into Chief Pope's office to tell him she was moving on. Sure, part of it was her distaste for having to be the unpopular babysitter for Deputy Chief Brenda Leigh Johnson and her unruly Major Crimes department, but the part she didn’t plan to share explicitly was that if she had a private sector job, her hours could become more predictable, and she'd be able to spend more off-duty time with a certain DDA.

As it was, since crimes and cases never happened on a schedule, they each had unexpected late nights, or entire weeks of great intensity. Unless they happened to be working on the same case, this left them, all too often, passing like ships in the night. So, Sharon had sent her resume out. The most attractive offer that had come back was as Director of Internal Threats and Corporate Security at the LA Convention Center.

Now, as Sharon stood in Chief Pope's office, she informed him and Commander Taylor that she was leaving.

Chief Pope tried to convince her that she was appreciated.  
  
Sharon explained, "I walk into a room, it goes silent. I can’t say hello to anyone outside the Professional Standards Bureau without provoking a defensive response. Between that and a few things in my personal life…" Sharon remained oblique about the details. "I feel that it’s time."

✢✢✢✢✢

Andrea suggested that they go to Andrea's storage unit together, so she could show Sharon what kinds of furniture she still had, and they could identify whether Andrea should sell it all or keep some for Sharon's condo. They had a couple of months until Andrea would be moving in, but they were both excited to take steps forward in the meantime.

Andrea told Sharon the punch code and Sharon leaned out her drivers' side window to enter it. They drove slowly into the complex and parked in front of Andrea's unit. Andrea twisted the dial on her padlock, then reached down to the bottom of the metal roll-up door. "Ready?" Andrea asked nervously, looking back over her shoulder at Sharon, who was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, in case they needed to move boxes to access some of the pieces.

Sharon nodded, squinting her eyes at Andrea curiously, surmising that Andrea must have some shocking furniture pieces if she was nervous about revealing them.

Andrea pushed up on the metal door.

Leaning against a stack of cardboard boxes were two familiar sights: two old but well-kept bicycles, happily nestled against one another.

Sharon gasped, staring at the bikes.

Andrea smiled, staring at Sharon.

"How did you...Why did you..."

Andrea moved to stand beside Sharon, holding Sharon's hand, and joining her in staring at the time-capsuled objects. "When you left school, you left so hurriedly. We packed one night and you were gone by dawn..."

"I remember." Sharon spoke over Andrea’s words, somberly.

"...You didn't mention what to do with your bike, and I didn't want to say anything. Why should they have to break up, just because we were?"

"So you kept them?"

"Mmmhmm. All these years. They stayed in Montreal in Grandma's garage while I was in Europe. But then I kept them with me in every garage or storage unit I ever had. Avery encouraged me to get rid of them, more than once, but I just couldn't. They were a memory of you. A memory of us."

"Did you ever ride them?" Sharon remembered seeing Andrea's high-end road bike, hanging on ceiling pegs just inside the entrance to Andrea's current apartment.

"Not once."

"Shall we see if they still work?" Sharon chirped playfully, lifting her shoulders in a shrug of curiosity and adventure.

✢✢✢✢✢

Just days before Andrea's move-in date and weeks before Sharon’s scheduled job transition to the private sector, Sharon was offered an unexpected position: head of the Major Crimes division. For someone who had spent the last decades of her career in Internal Affairs, it was unusual - and an honor - to be given the opportunity to manage a field-based operation.

She'd be replacing the outgoing Brenda Leigh Johnson, who had left the force in a flaming blaze of glory. Carnage remained: lawsuits against the city and the LAPD, assaults both given and received, and an orphan who was a key witness in an upcoming trial.

Andrea had worked on too many officer involved shootings to unthinkingly sign-off on Sharon returning to a non-internal department.

With a playful dramatism, Sharon crossed her arms, raised her eyebrows, and reminded Andrea, "no one has even tried to shoot me in decades. Although…” she bobbed her head to one side, with a teasing acquiescence, “...there were probably more than a few disgruntled subjects of FID investigations who would have jumped at the chance if they'd still had their sidearms." Sharon uncrossed her arms and reached for Andrea’s hips with both hands. Sharon’s eyes revealed a penetrating affection, and a cheeky righteousness. "You, my love, were shot at much more recently than me."

Enough time had passed that Andrea and Sharon were able to lightly reference the incident. Of course, Sharon still shuddered at the memory, and Andrea still had PTSD she was working through with a therapist. Sharon couldn't bear the thought of Andrea being in mortal danger, ever again. That's why she could sympathize with Andrea's feelings now. If their positions were reversed and Andrea had wanted to take a more dangerous job, Sharon would protest, just as strongly, calling on every lawyerly instinct left in her body.

Andrea could tell Sharon wanted to take the job. It was clear that after years of being on the inside, but being treated like she was on the outside, Sharon had a pent up desire to get her hands dirty and finally do things the way she saw fit. She had some novel ideas about how to partner with the DA’s office to make deals with suspects before ever going to court. Sharon hated the way the justice system put an emotional burden on the witnesses and victims; the process was also incredibly costly to the city. And sometimes, even after a lengthy trial that required victims to put themselves and their trauma on the stand, the prosecuted party would go free or receive a slap on the wrist instead of a true consequence. All of that was why Sharon wanted to take control of Major Crimes and start instituting new procedures that could save money for the city, and save victims from the indignity and retraumatization of testifying. Also, Sharon seemed to think that a Commandership might even be in her future.

So, after multiple late night discussions, after lots of scenario-planning around how they could spend more quality time together despite what was certain to be a more demanding job, and after many assurances from Sharon that her team would be on the front lines and she'd really just be the supervisor who administered and brought up the rear, Andrea agreed to Sharon taking the job, but on one condition. "If you ever do go out in the field, you have to bring your beanbag gun." They both laughed.

They decided to put Andrea's move on pause until Sharon got through the work transition. They figured that after a week or maybe two, Sharon would get a free weekend and they'd take the time to move Andrea's stuff in. In the meantime, Andrea brought over a small load of possessions, each evening she came over. It was a symbolic gesture of their ever entwining worlds.

✢✢✢✢✢

It was Sharon's last night leading FID. In the morning, she would officially start as the head of Major Crimes, with a department of personnel who were predisposed to dislike and resent her after her multi-year feud with their beloved former leader. Sharon was realistic and trepidatious, yet determined to earn the respect of the team.

As Sharon and Andrea made dinner in Sharon’s kitchen, Sharon brainstormed management strategies and Andrea made suggestions. Realizing she was as prepared as she possibly could be, Sharon vowed to stop thinking and talking about work for the rest of the night. Just like when she’d been a precocious school kid, she took comfort in the fact that she’d done all the prepping she could, and now, she just needed to eat well and sleep well before the big test.

After dinner, they sat on the couch, curled together, sharing silence. Sharon’s eyes passed lazily over Andrea's possessions, tucked neatly under Sharon's living room desk. Sharon said softly, her eyes resting on Andrea’s guitar case, "You know, you've still never let me hear you play."

“I’ve never let anyone hear me.”

“Isn’t the point of musical expression to be able to share it with others?”

“Not necessarily. For me, it’s about connecting with myself.”

“Like writing?”

“Yes, exactly. It’s introspective. It’s a way of talking to my soul.”

“I understand. And I respect how deeply personal it is,” Sharon smiled gently, letting her lips brush Andrea’s shoulder. “I was always honored when you chose to share snippets of your art with me. Remember our Art Dates in the backyard? I’d let you see my sketches sometimes, even though I was shy. And I was grateful each time you read me your poetry.”

“I do remember,” Andrea mused reflectively, stroking Sharon’s forearm with her thumb. “You’re the only person in the world, before or since, who I’ve ever been that vulnerable with.”

“I know what you mean,” Sharon whispered, leaning the side of her head against the back of the couch, letting herself relax into their loving eye contact.

Andrea sighed with resolve, “I want to share a song with you now.”

"Really?" Sharon lifted her head, genuinely shocked. She tried to hide her delight, not wanting to make Andrea more nervous.

"I’ve never sung for a partner before. And I've warned you, I don't play well. I just strum a few chords." Despite Andrea's qualifications and attempts to lower expectations, she got up from the couch, opened her case, and returned, perching the instrument on her knee.

"What are you going to play?" Sharon sat up, as eager as a child about to be given candy.

"No song you've ever heard before," Andrea smiled, cryptically. "But you know the story."

Andrea cleared her throat, strummed, and sang.

 

[Click Here to Listen to Audio of Song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hhKzyfd4nTQ)

 

_“We were young, we were lonely_

_We came together slowly_

_Slowly for us, I should say_

_We fell fast, we did it our way_

 

_You had it rough, it shaped you_

_The burdens placed upon you_

_I wanted nothing more_

_Than to help you leave that bitter shore_

_In turn I’d had my losses_

_I felt the violent forces_

_Tragedy, tears, and trauma_

_Thanks to you, I left the drama_

_I’d never felt so heard_

_You said I understood_

_We saw each other and_

_Loved what we saw, so we held hands_

_We loved books, we loved to read_

_We quickly learned to believe_

_We’d share a life ahead_

_So we shared our stories, shared a bed_

_Da-da Da-da-da-da-da-da_

_Da-da-da-da-da-da-da_

_Da-da Da-da-da-da-da-da_

_Da-da-da-da-da-da-da_

_The winter that you left me_

_I knew it wasn’t about me_

_Our hearts they parted kindly_

_You went back to tend your family_

_I kept our memories in mind_

_With careful tending and time_

_I trained myself to move on_

_Writing my new rhythms and songs_

_Life hasn’t been some hardship_

_Where I’ve stayed sad and heartsick_

_Honestly I learned to be_

_Relatively happy and free_

_That said I’ve always wondered_

_Where you’ve been, where you’ve wandered_

_I asked the universe_

_To help you learn to put yourself first_

_Da-da Da-da-da-da-da-da_

_Da-da-da-da-da-da-da_

_Da-da Da-da-da-da-da-da_

_Da-da-da-da-da-da-da_

_Thirty years pass, you call me_

_I answered shocked, and oddly_

_Fragments of my own soul_

_Came rushing back, filled hidden holes_

_I hadn’t known I missed you_

_Missed who I am when with you_

_It only took one hug_

_To ‘member how it felt to love_

_My soul had hibernated_

_Biding its time, it waited_

_Those first reunion days_

_The fog it lifted, cleared the haze_

_I don’t regret my own life_

_But now I see sacrifice_

_In having been apart_

_I lived in only half of my heart_

_So now I hope you don’t mind_

_Let’s make the most of our time_

_You seem to feel the same way_

_I will treasure every day_

_Da-da Da-da-da-da-da-da_

_Da-da-da-da-da-da-da_

_Da-da Da-da-da-da-da-da_

_Da-da-da-da-da-da-da”_

 

Sharon had tears in her eyes when Andrea finished her last soothing strum.

"I treasure every day, every moment, too." Sharon nodded. She leaned forward and embraced Andrea, knowing that this time, she'd never let her go.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've made it through all 7 chapter and this epilogue, thank you, thank you, thank you!
> 
> I appreciate any feedback you'd care to share, constructive or otherwise.
> 
> With Gratitude,  
> -PracticallyImaginative

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this as a Secret Santa gift for afrakaday during the 2014 Major Crimes Annual Gift Exchange over at http://majorcrimes.livejournal.com/
> 
> Thank you to DefyingNormalcy for her beta and support.


End file.
